Aes Sedai
by Blue Dragon
Summary: CHAPTER 8. When Girthona's Black Ajah allegience is discovered by a certain Brown, there's only one option: the Brown must die. And so must anyone who tries to stop it. Fortunately for Girthona, she has always enjoyed killing.
1. Ch 1: The Yellow Sister

**The Yellow Sister**

Talanee felt uncomfortable, and she knew why. She had argued with her Warder. It was difficult to argue with someone whose moods and emotions were clear to you; difficult not to give their arguments credit, or fold to their pleas when you knew how much frustration – and fear! – lay behind them. He only wanted her best, he argued for _her_ safety...

She had been quite firm with him. It had been necessary.

But she had _argued_ with him. With Sarnon. Her compliant and competent Sarnon, who seldom before had spoken as much as a word's objection to anything she chose to do.

Now, he had paced and cast his eyes about the room as if searching for something to hurl at a wall! Really. She had never seen him so wound up.

He was not with her, but stood guard with some other Warders and a sister at the entrance to the Yellow quarters.

Talanee had retreated to the depths of those quarters, to a seldom-used room which served as sick quarters for a variety of small animals, many brought in by servants or Novices or Accepted, or even by Aes Sedai. They were there to be treated by those Yellows who deigned to nurture animals – and to serve as practice for those Accepted deemed suitable for more advanced training in the fine art of Healing.

With her was a freckled Accepted named Savie – a girl with a potential in the One Power that outstripped even Talanee's own, and an avid interest in the Healing art. Savie had sought refuge natural as day was bright in the Yellow quarters when troubles stirred in the Tower, and had for some reason been admitted instead of sent back to the Accepted's halls. Perhaps she had snuck in through the servants' back corridors. No matter. She had had a lesson scheduled with Talanee, and Talanee would not deny her that, trouble in the Tower or not, argument with Sarnon or not.

Savie, aglow with _saidar_, cradled a sick kitten in her arms, but Talanee's concentration kept drifting. Sarnon was tense as a drawn bow.

Instead of watching the weaves Savie practiced, Talanee stared at nothing. She enjoyed to teach. She did. Especially with students like Savie, who showed such aptitude for Healing. But it was difficult to focus on anything else, with that mind-sore of a Warder riding in the back of her head.

The girl struck without warning. Talanee dimly caught a change in the flows, and she turned to Savie. Savie who now watched Talanee as if she was a wolverine in a too-flimsy net.

"Forgive me, Aes – Aes Sedai," breathed Savie, and licked her lips.

Talanee frowned. Had the girl made some mistake? The kitten had eased itself from her arms and now prowled quite unconcerned towards the bird cages. It seemed in fine health. Talanee reached for the Source – reached, and felt her eyes go as wild as Savie's.

She slapped the suddenly grinning girl as hard as she could. Savie squeaked and tumbled to the floor, but of course she was schooled enough to maintain a weave despite it.

"Remove this Shield from me at once," Talanee ordered coolly . She set her hands to her hips and stared down at the Accepted, who scrambled backward, but wore a gleeful smile. "_At once_, child. The _impudence_ to use it on a sister. You shall be scrubbing pots until your grandchildren's fingers wrinkle, you may rest _assured_."

Savie managed to her feet. She swiped her sleeve over her face, and straightened. Her nerve was a thing of trembling hands, but it was with some sort of nerve that she faced Talanee, and her voice only shook a little. "I'm sorry, Talanee Sedai. Sorry it's _you_. It's not personal. And –"

"The Shield, girl. If this is an Accepted prank, it is in very poor order indeed, and I shall recommend to the Mistress of Novices that you be _birched_." All very coolly delivered, very to-the-point. Talanee was proud of herself. She very much wanted to howl and slap the girl again. Perhaps whack her over the head with a slipper. _Once_. Or twice. How _dared_ she?

And Talanee had thought the girl showed promise. _Promise_!

Flows of Air snaked tight around her and the air shot out of her lungs with an indignant wheeze.

"I'd have preferred if it had been Rinette Sedai, or one of the other hags." Savie's voice was steadier by the word. "But it really wasn't up to _me_. Neither was the method. I'd – I'd have been more creative. But they said the window, so the window it is."

A terrible image began to form in Talanee's mind. The window? An impossible image. The _window_?

Talanee had discovered her ability to channel when she fell off a roof, four stories straight to the cobbles, and barely a scratch. But since then anything much higher than a horse made her pulse race. She stayed away from windows out of habit, so carefully that she doubted even her Warder knew. Oh, she could master her fear if she had to, but she had never defeated it.

_Did the girl intend to toss her out a window_?

She could already see it for her inner eye: the ground rushing up. The ground rushing up to meet her, and her powerless to stop it. Even had she been able to channel, she couldn't have stopped it. The ground rushing up. Buildings, roof tiles, courtyard, cobbles and gravel, bigger and bigger, faster and faster and – not even with the Power was she able to _fly_.

And she had never figured out how she had survived that first fall, long ago.

Savie gave an odd little wave, a half-hearted farewell, and the flows around Talanee began dragging her backward. Towards the window. Talanee would have wailed, only her lungs burned empty and she couldn't make a sound. She thought a rib might have snapped, but that was secondary. Her feet, unbound, scraped over the carpets and she could _feel_ the window come closer, closer behind her.

She focused, with an effort, on Savie's face. Why? By the Light, _why_?

The girl looked a compromise between joyous fascination and stark terror. Like a new Novice, sickly from intimidation of Aes Sedai and the Tower, but too hungry for _saidar_ and knowledge to look aside even for a moment.

"I think if it had been Rinette, I'd have tried to drain the blood from her," giggled the girl. "They said it's possible. They even showed me how, on a puppy, you know the one –"

Talanee hardly heard. The lack of air began to make her light-headed. Black and white swirled and danced in front of her eyes, and to hold to focus was to catch butterflies in her hands. The window, the window, cried a panic in the back of her head, but the spreading fog silenced it.

When she collapsed to the floor it took her three breaths to realise that she was free.

She blinked her eyes open and raised them. They felt as heavy as the rest of her. Trembling, leaden, but – oh, but sweet _saidar_ was there when she reached for it and the relief when it flooded her near made her weep.

Savie sprawled face-down on the floor with Sarnon seated astride her. He lifted the girl almost gently by the shoulders. Gently, but he did not just let the girl _drop_ again; he little short of _shoved_ her onto the floor. Then he sprang to his feet and made a thorough search of the entire apartment. He hardly spared Talanee a glance. He knew that she was hale – aside from that fractured rib. It was the apartment that concerned him. The animals in their cages were causing a racket, now, and Sarnon scowled at them. They made it difficult to hear if anyone was in hiding.

Talanee drew herself up to sit on her knees and smoothed her silk skirts over her folded legs with a mechanical motion. She rightened her necklaces, straightened the bejewelled diadem that held her greying black hair out of her face. She forced the pain of the broken rib aside. She would ask someone to Heal it, but she must not show weakness before her Warder. Warders were a skittish lot, and needed no superfluous trifles to fret over. They could be impossible for weeks if they knew you had as much as a sprained ankle.

Sarnon finished his round and returned to the Accepted. Light, how he was agitated. He stalked instead of walked, and raised the girl's head by the hair to study her face. Apparently he didn't trust the white dress and its seven-coloured banded hem alone.

"A bloody _Accepted_," he growled finally.

"Be careful with her, Sarnon," Talanee admonished.

"She's dead. I broke her neck." He let the girl's face thud back to the floor and began to stalk around the room again.

Talanee did not tighten her hands in her skirts. She rested them palm-down and at ease on her thighs. He had snapped Savie's neck, had he? He had no cause to go about snapping necks as it suited him. Once his blood cooled, she would have to speak harshly to him.

"A flaming bloody _Accepted_."

"_Sarnon_," Talanee warned, her patience about to run dry, "_must_ I remind you to keep a civil tongue?"

He paused and turned to study her. Study _her_. She suppressed the urge to squirm, the urge to mask the bond and hide from that scrutiny. She just sat, calm, her breathing slow and regular. Each breath twang that rib, but to breathe was vital and pain irrelevant. She could ignore it. But she could not ignore his gaze, like fingers that poked her every flaw, prodded to test whether she would hold or break. Burn it, but her Warder knew her _too well_ as it was.

"You look like a swan at ease, Talanee Sedai," he said finally. "But your insides are churning."

The ground, rushing up to meet her.

Panic stirred. Sarnon cocked his head as if listening, and he touched his sword hilt. So _her_ insides churned? _His_ were a thunderstorm, and she couldn't tell if it was a storm about to break out or a storm already raging. But his outer agitation had subsided, his natural grace returned, and he stood ready to kill or die at her word.

Or _without_ her word, as it suited him. Breaking Accepted necks. _Really_.

Well, the girl had been about to –

Talanee halted that thought. _He_ couldn't see the flows. _He_ hadn't known what –

No, but he _could_ read her mind, even from a distance, and his trained eye could have read Savie's aggressive posture as easily. So _had_ he overreacted?

Perhaps not, she admitted to herself.

She would _still_ have to speak to him. He could have hit the girl on the head –

And risked to be caught in _saidar_ if his blow had gone the slightest awry? In which case, he would have been unable to save either her or himself. Fortunate enough that he had managed to reach Savie before she took notice of him. She must have been distracted by –

Well, that had been the girl's weakness, Talanee reminded herself. She had always had a single-tracked mind, found it difficult to do more than one thing at a time.

When she failed to answer his statement, he strode to check the door.

Perhaps her insides did churn; an Accepted had tried to kill her. _Why_? For the love of the Light and all things illuminated, _why_?

"Do sit down, Sarnon," she snapped at him. "I can't think with you streaking about like a hissing tomcat."

His look was reproachful. Reproach? Against _her_? "Talanee, an _Accepted_ –"

Light, yes, an Accepted. But _why_?

"Sit down," Talanee repeated, more firmly.

Sarnon thumped to his knees and sat much like Talanee herself, facing her. "It's the Black Ajah," he said. He rested his sword on his open hands across his knees, one hand beneath the hilt and one beneath the blade.

Talanee ignored his remark. He didn't know what he spoke of. Someone wanted her dead. But why? Someone had recently murdered Yna and Paeva, Lorin and Issay. To quiet them, most likely. Most likely to quiet _her_. But _why_?

"I spoke to Contair, the Warder of Evain Sedai. He claimed that Evain Sedai and he have hunted the Blacks for years."

"Warders, unlike sisters, _can lie_. Even sisters can utter falsities they believe true. You mustn't be so gullible. There… is no Black Ajah." And an Accepted could never have been part of any Ajah, no matter how Black it was.

"The remnant. Rill. He raved of the Blacks –"

"Warders can lie," Talanee cut in. Was he wilfully trying her patience? She'd thought she had him better trained than that.

"Think, Talanee!" he growled. "The four Yellows intended to speak to the Amyrlin. They asked you along. You declined. All you told me was that it concerned 'some foolishness', but _I know you_. It must have been –"

"You have no _need_ to fret over the business of other Aes Sedai, Sarnon. _No_ –"

"_Think_, Talanee! Evain Sedai, too. And Rill himself, silenced. And now this – this Accepted."

"What could possibly," Talanee whispered, "an _Accepted_ have to do with _anything_?"

Sarnon's eyes were cold. "She'd be expendable, for one."

"Granted," Talanee agreed after a moment. Even one with such talent for Healing as Savie was no match for a full sister… _at least, not for a full sister with a Warder_. She raised a hand to stall Sarnon, and he closed his opened mouth. "I'll take your advice, _Gaidin_, and think. Why an Accepted? She'd be able to lie about her reasons. She'd be able to slip through corridors in the Tower unremarked, even where a sister would stand out. She'd never be _suspected_, and if accused, she would be able to prove no link to any presumed Black Ajah. Lastly, in the case of Savie… I am among the strongest now-living Aes Sedai, and Savie is – _was_ – one of the few who might hope to hold me without help." She finished at a whisper. Her lips were dry. She _did not_ lick them.

"I shouldn't have broken her neck," Sarnon muttered, regret a stain upon his bond.

Regret! So he did retain some sense! Talanee was glad. She had chosen him for his sensible manner.

"Now we can't get any answers out of her."

So _therefore_ his regret..? Perhaps he did not retain much sense, after all. She took him in where he sat; still as a statue, tense as a drawn bow, a leopard ready to spring. _Sense_? If the Dark One and five Forsaken popped out of the air to threaten her, he would spring, and all sense be burned.

Perhaps Warders lost their common sense on becoming Warders. But was it a part of the bond, or just a natural reaction for a man who found himself feeling a woman's pain and knowing that her death would destroy him? She would have to investigate the matter further. Perhaps the bond could be altered to… _no_. No, of course not. It was for the best. What use would a Warder be if he was willing to compromise the safety of his Aes Sedai?

Seen in that light, Sarnon's lack of sense was… _sensible_.

Should she perhaps _thank_ her Warder for saving her?

No. He was merely carrying out his duties. He needed no thanks. That she still _lived_ was his thanks, and enough of it. She spoiled him as it was.

Her leopard sat and watched her, awaited her instruction.

"We only have one real clue in this matter," Talanee said.

"Evain Sedai."

"Correct." Talanee stood – and of course, he was on his feet before her. She brushed her skirts straight. Her rib gave a twinge that almost made her gasp, and Sarnon took a step towards her, held out a hand… She waved him back. He subsided, stood and watched her, his sword again in both hands, one on the hilt, one on the blade.

Talanee composed herself. The rib could wait. The first Yellow sister she saw – the first Yellow sister she _could trust_ – oh, but surely she could trust _all_ her sisters? Irritably she set the matter aside. "I will go immediately and find Evain. She should be in the Blue quarters. You will hurry down –"

Sarnon stared at her, his expression so incredulous that she lost track of what she had been about to say.

She began a frown and opened her mouth to correct him. But before she could speak, he threw down his sword with a _clang_ as metal struck stone, seized her shoulders so hard that it hurt – it _hurt_! – and met her eyes. His gaze was steady, but his hiss of a voice trembled. "Burn you, woman. Let me stay beside you and _do my job_."

Talanee gaped at him.

"Just this _once_."

She closed her mouth. Really, it was beneath her to gape. Even if Sarnon's fingers would leave bruises on her shoulders, and even if the emotions in the back of her mind stung like a ball of barbed steel wire, twined so tightly she could hardly separate the individual strands. This time, he had truly wound himself up. Anger, fear, concern, unyielding will, and stony mental preparation for the worst, whatever that might be. He had _really_ wound himself up. "Sarnon –"

"Tell me to go, and I'll go. We both know it. But _please_, Talanee. It's the bloody _Black Ajah_, and I don't – I don't want you out of my _sight_."

The steel wire turned to soft silk, and began to unravel. _Quickly_. Without thinking, Talanee set a hand to his cheek. The gesture surprised them both – she jerked her hand back and brushed some dust from her skirts. She hated dust. He released her, looked at his hands as if he couldn't quite believe what he had been doing. He had the sense to look ashamed.

"Pick up your sword," she instructed him in a shaky attempt at her usual brisk tones.

He bent, took the sword, held it as before across his thighs, in both hands.

"You will –"

There she flinched. She reached to loosen his left hand from around the blade, and opened the palm to study the bloody gash; he had forgotten himself and clenched too tightly.

He blinked in surprise, but a swift weave of Healing and the gashes were gone. He thanked her with a bow of his head.

"I was about to say, Sarnon… That you may come with me, if you feel that you must."

"We both know that I must," Sarnon said softly. The silk emotions in his bond began to rewind, strand by strand hardening to wire and assuming its place with a sort of forced deliberateness. "I thank you, Talanee."

She looked at him, properly, likely for the first time in years. He was always there. He was always dependable, easily guided, and though he might wind himself up now and then, he always heeded her and calmed down quickly. She supposed she had begun to take him for granted. She had begun to forget how he was an individual, not just her subservient shadow.

And naturally. He had seen as much of her work as she had, as many remnant Warders who either wasted away or perished in some rash bid for vengeance, and he was no fool: he knew, perhaps better than most Warders, the price men such as he paid for failure.

It was not a price he was eager to pay.

She should keep that in mind. For his sake.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Here comes the continuation to "Warders".

These characters have been circling my head all this time, since last summer when "Warders" appeared. I can't get them out. There are side stories and prologues and epilogues for each of them, but the main story line, like a chunk in the middle, consists of "Warders", and directly following it, "Aes Sedai".

I can't promising any speedy updates for this one... they'll be posted as I finish them. I have about 65% of the writing done beforehand, but I also have university studies to attend and exams to pass.

So until I do update, please take the time to review. Ask me questions or post theories or thoughts. The best way to get me thinking about these characters again and writing more is to give me a little shove. And that shove is the review button below.

That, and it makes me happy to know what people think.


	2. Ch 2: The Grey Sister

**The Grey Sister**

"What is it?" snapped the Warder at the door, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He had gone from sleepy to ready in the blink of an eye.

Something must have changed in the bond, Bessal concluded. At the thought, she touched Masrogen's bond with her mind. He was coming. And he was –

He was _afraid_?

"It's Lengon," replied the Green Sitter, who sat in an armchair opposite Bessal. Her tone acquired a note of irritation, but otherwise it remained conversational, and her expression hardly shifted from hard marble. She had worn that same hard marble expression when Bessal first greeted her, and all the while as Bessal told her the truth of Nevien's death.

How Nevien was stabbed by her very own Warder. It still made Bessal's skin crawl. It still made her want to weep. Nevien had been her best friend since she came to the Tower. The Tower could never be the same without her. Oh, she had her life as Lord Pergal's advisor, but the Tower had always been _home_. Now… now she wasn't so sure.

But Velde wore that same hard marble all through the retelling, so rigid that even Bessal found it troublesome to judge her reaction. Of course, Velde, a long-time Sitter, was known for her toughness. Her toughness, and her temper.

"_Lengon_?" mouthed the young Warder. "What's the matter with him?"

Velde frowned. "He's in a bloody panic, and Raben isn't far behind. Where are they?"

"Dicing. Warder barracks."

"My Masrogen is down there, too," offered Bessal. _Masrogen, afraid? Why? _She drew a deep breath. He wasn't there any longer. He was running, as fast as he could. "He's also… frightened."

"Fright in the barracks…" murmured the Warder at the door and frowned.

"Not fright, Emind," corrected the Green. She rose and began to pace. "A bloody _panic_." She glanced her question at Bessal.

"Masrogen is… not easily spooked."

"Lengon is a jumpy sort. But Raben? You could tumble a house down on him and he wouldn't flinch." She chuckled. Her chuckle sounded like gravel being forced to move. "I've seen it happen."

Emind, at the door, shared none of her mirth. "Forgive me, Aes Sedai," he cut in, "but I can only think of one thing that can _panic_ the Warder barracks. And that's…" He hesitated.

"Out with it, Emind."

"If every Warder down there believes his Aes Sedai is in danger."

"I think you're right, my clever boy." Velde praised, and he blushed. But then Velde huffed, spinning about to pace in the other direction. "A _panic_, huh? What will it take to teach those bloody men to keep their _heads_? I shall have to speak to the Master at Arms again. And if that doesn't help, I'll have _Maeba_ speak to him."

Emind flinched, and Velde chuckled again.

"Don't judge them too harshly," Bessal admonished her softly. "Warders are human, and react like humans."

"You Greys," muttered Velde, but not unkindly. "Always you have an excuse for anyone's shortcomings. How about just taking them by the scruff of their necks and telling them to behave?"

Bessal smiled. "There's a reason why Greys may make do with none or one Warder, while Greens need several. We employ instead a thing called _tact_."

Velde barked a laugh. "Likely true." Her skirts swished as she changed direction again. "Well, they're coming. When they get here, they have some bloody _explaining_ to do."

For another few moments, Velde paced, Emind fingered his sword, and Bessal sat, focused on keeping her composure. In her head, Masrogen came closer. His stiff leg, which usually pained him if he forced it to work, now gave no sign; he had suppressed it too deeply. All there was to him was a _focus_, and she had no clue as to what he saw on the way. He reacted to nothing; he only ran. She wondered why. What could possibly have happened in the barracks to make the Warders afraid..?

Then suddenly she knew.

An Aes Sedai must have died. Some Aes Sedai had died a violent death, and it had driven her Warder mad. The rest knew the signs. They would have – _no_.

She looked to Velde. Velde had sat herself down again, legs crossed, hands on the armrests of her chair, rigid like a statue aside from her slow, controlled breaths. Her face now wore a hard frown, somewhere between tough and temper, like a volcano postponing its eruption. "You're thinking what I'm thinking," she concluded when she saw Bessal's look. "It can't have been just _one_."

Bessal nodded weakly. It couldn't have been just _one_ Aes Sedai. One Aes Sedai dead the Warders would take as nothing; a tragedy to be sure, but not out of the ordinary, unless foul play could be proven. Two, however… or more than two.

_Two_ would be a coincidence._ More than two_ would make a trend, and a trend of dying Aes Sedai _would_ put a panic in the barracks.

"It can't have been just two," Bessal added softly.

Velde began to curse beneath her breath.

There was a shriek out in the hallways, and the sound of all mayhem breaking loose.

Velde swept to the door and snatched hold of the Source as if it had been a weapon.

Bessal did the same, opening herself to _saidar_ and – and with its warmth came enhanced hearing, and the sounds. Swords. Shouts, and the unmistakable _woosh_ of fire thrown, the hiss as water quenched flames. _What in all Creation_?

Emind stuck his head out the door, then jerked back inside and slammed it shut. He faced his Aes Sedai, even set a halting hand to her chest. "We should wait until Lengon and Raben –"

"Out of my way," snapped Velde.

Amazingly, the young Warder didn't budge. "If I let you out there _now_, Raben will have my hide."

"Let me deal with Raben," Velde instructed crossly. "Move aside, _Gaidin_!"

The unmistakable command made Emind grimace and step out of her way.

But Velde didn't move. She wavered. Emind took her gently by the shoulders to steady her, his Warder face hiding his concern behind grimness.

"What is it?" asked Bessal.

"Lengon, he's been –" Velde shook herself. She set a hand to Emind's cheek, and her eyes filled with tears. "And Raben's caught in the fighting, my boy," she whispered. "What he's fighting, I don't know."

Emind looked grimmer than death.

Velde put her face in both her hands and leaned it against his shoulder. His back was still to the door, but while his concerned glances that way showed how he remembered the racket outside, Velde appeared to have forgotten it completely. Her chest rose and fell as she drew deep breaths, controlled breaths. She shook from the effort of… not sobbing.

"Sitter," began Bessal softly. "My sincerest condolences for the loss of your _Gaidin_, Sitter, but –"

A firm rap on the door interrupted her.

"It's Masrogen," Bessal hurried to say, as she realised it was. Trust Masrogen to shoulder himself ahead of everyone and run like the wind. Dear, _dear_ Masrogen. "My Warder. Let him in."

Emind made no move, and when Velde raised her head and blinked at Bessal, her eyes were glazed over. Bessal might as well have spoken in a foreign tongue.

"Let him in," repeated Bessal. She strode to the door.

Emind shot out a hand to block her way. "This door opens for nothing and no one aside from Raben," he told her.

"It's my _Warder_," Bessal said with more patience than she felt. She summoned all her commanding airs: "Let him in, Emind _Gaidin_."

Emind ignored her. He still blocked her way, but his eyes were on Velde.

Bessal knew she shouldn't. But if no one let Masrogen inside, he would break his way in. He had never had much respect for closed doors. Especially not if they stood between him and her. So Bessal channelled, and Emind glared as he was neatly shoved aside.

Bessal channelled the door open to let Masrogen past, and slammed it shut behind him.

Masrogen offered her the tiniest of bows, eyed her as if to make certain she was unharmed, and –

– and spun, sword high, bearing down on Velde.

Emind moved to shield her, but Masrogen blocked the swipe, twirled around the other Warder, shot out a hand to shove Velde clear and stabbed true between the eyes of –

"Grey man!" spat Emind. Trembling, he lowered his blade. "Codswallop! I didn't see him. I didn't bloody _see_ him! Burn me, _burn_ –"

"They're not easy to spot," Bessal whispered. "But Masrogen has sharp eyes."

Masrogen silently dried blood off his blade, and Bessal made herself study the corpse. There was nothing peculiar about the man – well, that was the very point, wasn't it? But she could usually judge a person's heritage by their looks. Not so this time.

"Thank you," Emind breathed at Masrogen.

Masrogen nodded at him, then looked to Bessal for instruction. Now that he was beside her, and she was well, he was calm. That he had just killed a Grey Man – a Grey Man! in the _Tower_! – didn't bother him. She patted his arm, more to soothe herself than to soothe him. His _focus_ remained. It would remain until all risk of danger had passed.

Velde had woken from her daze. She looked down at the Grey Man, and scoffed. It was a very small scoff, half-hearted, but a scoff all the same. Then she raised her eyes. This time, her eyes blazed, and her voice was the rumble of the volcano deciding it was bloody time for that eruption. "Emind. I _am_ going out. Bessal, you are welcome to join me."

"Wait." Bessal raised a hand. "Masrogen. What happened in the Warder barracks?"

Masrogen shrugged. "Someone's killing Aes Sedai."

Bessal forced her breath to come steady, while Velde muttered beneath her breath.

"And what did you see while coming up?"

Masrogen gave a dismissive shake of his head. He never spoke much, her Masrogen.

"Not much," Bessal interpreted. "It's recent, whatever it is. It probably hasn't had time to spread all over –"

"Feral Warders," Masrogen interrupted. "And Aes Sedai… killing Aes Sedai."

He rarely offered so long explanations. At first his voice surprised Bessal more than his words. Once she had digested them she drew a long breath, met Velde's eyes, and her own voice quavered as she spoke: "Oh, Light. What's going on?"

"I bloody well intend to find out," Velde muttered. The remnants of tears showed on her cheeks, but she so blatantly ignored them that it would be impossible for anyone else to comment. "We go."

She shoved open the door and Emind rushed to stay ahead of her into the corridor.

When Bessal made to follow, Masrogen touched her arm. A gentle touch, but a strong advise for staying here, inside, safe. She waved him aside and continued towards the door.

He touched her arm again, and began to shake his head, firmly.

"We need to follow Velde," she said.

He kept on shaking his head.

"Oh, _yes_. Stop shaking your head, Masrogen, you're starting to look foolish."

He stopped. His stillness might as well have been a glare.

She set a consolatory hand to his chest. "You're wearing your mail shirt, aren't you?"

A curt nod.

"Good. You can't know who a grieving Warder might attack. There might be mistakes."

He knew that, of course. He would make certain _she_ would never be such a _mistake_.

Dear Masrogen. Bessal doubted that she could have been half as brave without him. She touched his cheek – he showed no response, but his bond flashed concern before he smothered it in focus, absorbed himself in his duties.

Her courage and Warder headed into the corridor before her, and she followed, safe and calm at his heels.

The hallway was full of angered Greens and their Warders. Most sisters held the Source, Warders had their blades bare, and the air reeked of menace. Tempers and fear held the situation balanced on the brink of violence. Bessal wanted to shiver, but none of them paid her much attention as she made her way after Velde, who parted a path through the crowd up to what all the fuss seemed to be about.

Once she rejoined Velde, Masrogen now at her shoulder instead of in front of her, Bessal began to feel the glares land on her back. She straightened. Yes, she was a Grey, and she didn't belong in this part of the Tower, but she was here as a Sitter's guest, and she had every right –

When Bessal saw what lay at the centre of the commotion, she drew sharply for air. _It's true. Light, it's true._

Velde, for her part, looked positively stonily furious. "What is the meaning of this?" she rumbled, her Power-enhanced voice booming throughout the Green quarters. "Hold up, and release the Source!"

The present Aes Sedai obeyed, and gestured to their Warders, who also obeyed. All except a few struggling _Gaidin_ who fought on against Air or hands or whatever else happened to hold them to the carpeted floors, and those Aes Sedai and Warders holding them. One of the struggling Warders had a wad of Air shoved into his mouth to keep him from screaming. Instead of full-throated cries, all that escaped him was a horrible, pitiful, hoarse and muffled wheezing that made Bessal want to weep.

Bessal tore her eyes from the man, and from – from the two women also on the floor. They did not struggle. They were disturbingly motionless.

"Tell me!" boomed Velde.

"Sitter," said a voice. Forth came a gangly red-haired Aes Sedai, who to her credit had released the Source as asked, but the hawk-faced Warder at her heels still had his sword in his hand. "Rovaide is dead, Sitter. They say a Grey killed her."

Beside Bessal, Masrogen grew three grim sizes. Without moving he changed his presence from discretion to looming menace, impossible to ignore. She set a hand to his arm to soothe him, and smoothed her own face. There was no change in his stance, or his bond. His bond likened him to a fortress sure of its defences, and his stance placed her safely behind those thick walls.

She realised that the Greens' menace did not frighten her. Not while Masrogen was there. He would let no harm come to her. A fool emotion, since the weakest Green could bundle him in Air like a kitten in a sack, but that was how she felt.

Velde charged on as if intending to run down all opposition, and trample it good into the ground while she was at it. "Who would spread such nonsense? If it isn't true, and I truly doubt it is, I'll have the fool _birched_!" Then in a flash, her manner changed. "And why," she went on, her voice decreased to a whisper tight with rage, "why in all the _Light_ are Lelara and Senethe also dead? Isn't a Green safe in our own quarters?"

"It was the Warders, Sitter," said the red-hair. "Rovaide's –"

"Rovaide's Warders wanted to head to the Grey and avenge their Aes Sedai," a new voice continued. Bessal recognized this one; Maeba, a well-known retired Sitter, with a mass of thin white braids around her wrinkled face. Instead of old and frail, her little body looked hard and gnarled like old oak. She made Velde appear soft as a goose down pillow. "Lelara ordered them to stand down, but when she tied up one in Air another cut her down."

"Stepping in front of grieving Warders was never wise," Velde said beneath her breath. "How many did Rovaide have, now? Six, was it?"

"Seven, Sitter," supplied a petite raven-haired Aes Sedai.

"Seven, yes. And Lelara always did have more courage than wisdom. Light protect her. Her heart held nothing but kindness, and she didn't deserve this."

The red-haired woman – Mellindra was her name, Bessal suddenly remembered – continued. "As for Senethe, she tried to intervene when Lelara's Warders attacked –"

"Are you saying," Velde broke through, "that in an Ajah quarter full of Warders, full of Aes Sedai who call themselves _Greens_, only _two_ sisters tried to keep bloodshed from our halls, and the rest of you _stood by like silly geese_ and let them _die_? I should send the lot of you to farms in the bloody Black Hills, to dig up turnips until you're so old your teeth rot in your mouths!"

Even Bessal shrunk back from the Sitter's fury.

"Actually, Sitter, there's more," voiced a pretty young girl. She had a silver-haired Warder beside her, his thumbs in his belt and his expression forbidding.

"Out with it, Yamela," gritted Velde.

"The Amyrlin is missing!" shouted another Green, a blonde with an ageless face which would have fitted well on a porcelain doll. "And it's those _Blues_. The Keeper says she saw the Blues –"

"Now it's rumours from the bloody _Keeper_? Where is the Keeper?" barked Velde.

Bessal was beginning to suspect that Velde was not only Sitter, but also Head of the Green Ajah. All the others deferred to her, as natural as rabbits would to a wolf. But that was none of Bessal's business.

The crowd stirred, and a battered rat-faced woman who wore her hair in a bun emerged. "I'm here, Velde," she rasped. The Keeper, Polinne, was an oddity among Greens: she had no Warder. Her first had died months after the bonding, and she had never taken a second, not in over a hundred years alone. Now, she looked as if the lack had taken its toll: her normally neatly bunned hair was in disorderly flight, and she still bled from a cut across her scalp, the blood running down her face and staining her bodice. Still she stood as straight-backed and cool-faced as ever any Aes Sedai.

"What is this about the Blues?" demanded Velde.

"I heard a ruckus in the Amyrlin's quarters and went to see. In the antechamber something hit me, and after that I have only the foggiest recollections. But I saw Blue shawls as they carried her out."

Bessal frowned. There was an insistent tingle in her mind, but she couldn't set her finger on _why_. Something was odd with Polinne's words.

Around them rose a blended outcry of anger and disbelief.

"Keep your wits, you flock of sheep," growled Velde. "Hear me. Maeba! Head to the Blue quarters to see if you can set this foolery straight."

Polinne's mouth opened, but snapped closed at a glare from Velde."I want it done neatly and courteously and _without bloodshed_, Maeba. Can I trust you with that?"

Maeba gave the nod a queen might have granted another queen. "Certainly, Sitter. I'll be neat as a sparrow fixing her nest."

"Bethys! Hold fast at the entrance to our own quarters. No one and nothing comes in _or leaves_ without my say-so. Eresse! Take care of this…" She gestured at the bodies in the corridor. "With all due respect, naturally. And you, Yamela. Bring one other, and escort Bessal safely to her own Ajah quarters. She and you can explain about Rovaide's Warders. Must I remind you to keep your bloody _temper_? Must I remind you of _turnips_? The Black Hills? Ten years of _manual labour_?"

"No, Sitter," Yamela assured her meekly. "That's understood."

At once someone was there to whisper in Yamela's ear, and Yamela nodded. The woman looked pleased. The other named sisters – Maeba, Bethys, Eresse – were heading off in purposeful directions, surrounded by a small circle of Aes Sedai like hunting masters with their dogs heading to the hunt. In greater circles around them came their collected Warders, keen-eyed and tense as if the roof was about to fall on their heads.

"We will continue our conversation at a more suitable time," Velde told Bessal without looking at her. The Sitter's eyes were fixated on a chestnut-and-grey-haired little man with slanted eyes who ran through the crowd towards her. "Ah, Raben. I'm glad to see you." She touched his cheek, and he bowed.

"There was a panic in the Warder quarters," he told her. "When I left, three were grief-struck and maddened, and the rest acted like startled hens, flapping every other way, trying to get into the Tower. Lengon – I'm sorry, but Lengon –"

"Tell me _later_, Raben," Velde cut him off. Her face remained hard marble, but her voice hitched. Slightly; Bessal doubted any but a sharp ear would have noticed it. "There's work to be done."

"Yes, Sitter," he agreed, and bowed again.

Velde turned to Bessal. "As said, we must speak again. For now, please allow Yamela and –" she looked over her shoulder toward the young Green and her companion, the one who had whispered in her ear to volunteer, "– and Erenwile to return you to your own Ajah. And please explain to them about Rovaide's Warders. Assure Sitter Huiranne that I will personally investigate this madness, and when I find whoever is responsible, I shall leave their judgement in Huiranne's hands."

Bessal gave a small curtsey.

"Will they trust you, Bessal?" Velde asked, and for a moment her face looked troubled.

"They should," Bessal said, though she wasn't completely sure. She had been gone from the Tower for many long years, returned only that very morning, and she hadn't even known that Huiranne had been raised Sitter. "But I imagine they shall be upset. Seven Warders isn't a mishap. It's an _invasion_."

"We can only hope your sisters react quickly, before they cause too much damage."

Bessal nodded grimly. But if this was how it looked in the Green quarters, the quarters of the Battle Ajah, she wondered how quickly or how well the Aes Sedai of the much more peaceful and placid Grey quarters would react. "My Ajah's strength is its willingness to see all sides of things," she said. "I doubt this one unfortunate incidence will prove the exception."

Velde nodded, and dismissed her. Bessal found herself face to face with Yamela.

She remembered Yamela as Accepted. A girl who learned the use of the Power fast, and anything else only if pressured. She had spent all too much time in the Warders' practice yard. Nearly as much time as she had spent doing penance in the kitchens.

_Greens_.

"We're ready to go when you are, Bessal," Yamela told her. Her silver-haired Warder had crossed his arms over his chest and studied Masrogen. She had two more Warders, Bessal saw now; a set of twins in identical velvet doublets who looked like all of Creation was a joke and they were about to celebrate it with a good laugh. They carried their swords like fighting men, however, and Bessal did not doubt they knew how to use them.

_Greens_, after all.

Erenwile, in a scandalously low-cut dress, waited beside Yamela. She had only two Warders; a scarred Borderlander with empty black eyes, and a fair-haired youth with a nervous expression. The first followed her as if tugged along on a leash, and the second as if she was the only safety in a world gone mad. A very peculiar pair, for Warders.

"We leave at once," Bessal decided.

The three Aes Sedai formed up, after Yamela's quick – and rather pleased – instructions. Bessal did not feel like arguing, so she let the girl take charge. When they left the Green quarters, Yamela herself took the lead, Bessal center, and Erenwile behind. The distances between them varied with their surroundings, to – as Yamela put it – have as good margins as possible in case something happened without losing touch. The Warders were loosely arranged around them, except for the silver-haired man who never moved far from Yamela. Moving through straight corridors, Yamela's twins and Masrogen scouted ahead and Erenwile's two tailed at a distance. Where there were side corridors, a Warder would always disappear into it, and stand guard at the entrance until the three women were safely past, then run ahead again. They avoided contact with other Aes Sedai, but Bessal knew the sound of fighting when she heard it and she was certain the scouting Warders ran into… less pleasant things now and then. But in the centre of the formation, Bessal's peace was undisturbed.

She still held on to the Source, and she kept a mental eye on Masrogen's bond. To see the damage wrought to furniture and wall-hangings, paintings, carpets and floors… some of that was Power-induced, she was certain, and she didn't like it at all. Whatever had sparked such _unrest_?

It should have been impossible.

But the heart of the matter was _why_. Someone had sown strife and chaos in the Tower, but _why_? To overthrow the Amyrlin? Why then divide the Ajahs? To destroy the Tower from within… but who would do such a thing?

"I never actually caught your name, Grey," came Erenwile's voice. Bessal gave a start to realise that the woman was right at her heels.

"My name is Bessal al'Duvin," Bessal replied.

"I thought I recognized you – I was right. You were a friend of Nevien, weren't you? They say a Grey friend of hers knows how she died."

"She was stabbed."

"Who stabbed her? Did you catch the culprit?"

"He's dead."

"A shame," Erenwile murmured, her voice oddly dispassionate. "Do you know why?"

Bessal shook her head helplessly. Light, if only she'd known _why_.

"Her Warder, Rill, was raving mad when he came home. He died just a few days ago."

"Rill's dead? What happened?"

"I never saw him, and it was all quieted down," said Erenwile.

Bessal looked at her. There it was again, that _tingle_. The tingle that told her how something was _off_. The same tingle as when Polinne, the Keeper, had spoken to Velde.

And this time Bessal understood. She had always been able to tell – sort of a Talent on her part – but she had never expected it from this source. Not from an Aes Sedai. So ingrained in her mind had that presumption been that she hadn't even _recognized_ it.

But impossible as it seemed, Erenwile, and Polinne the Keeper previously, were _lying_.

She studied Erenwile's composed features. An outright lie was impossible, of course, but any Aes Sedai could sidestep the truth.

"What _do_ you know?" she asked.

"Nothing." _Tingle_. "Tell me instead of Nevien. She was my friend, too."

Bessal shrugged uneasily. She looked ahead down the corridor. In a side corridor stood Masrogen, waiting for the two of them to pass, watching both the corridor and them. Yamela was somewhere ahead, behind a turn, and the twins even further away.

Then the bond flashed. From calm focus to frantic frustration. Unmistakable frustration, which she could read as easily as a good scribe's neat script; _too far, too late_.

Startled she spun her head to look at her Warder and –

– and a blow that would have shattered her skull instead just struck a side blow.

Pain like a thousand glittering teeth seized her and threw her into darkness.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Near 90 visitors to chapter one and only three reviews? Come on, people, that's an abyssmal percent of you with enough force of initiative to give me an opinion on my writing. **Thank you Kamarile Sedai, Cymru na Alethaira, and EpitomyofShyness**. The rest of you should be ashamed of yourselves. Go stand in a corner.

Jokes aside. The only conclusion I can draw from so many visitors and so few reviews is that near 87 of you did not like it enough to bother, or perhaps half of that didn't even manage to finish it because it bored them. And if that's the case, I need to know it. So drop me a hint. It would make me very happy.

Here, I'll even help you along...

1. Are the characters believable?

2. Is the text easy to follow?

3. Is there enough/too much/too little action/thinking/dialogue?

4. Is the dialogue up to standards or do all the characters sound alike?

5. Is there anything you feel the text is missing? Some hint or fact or disclarity?

6. Can you relate to the characters, why, and which is your favourite and why?

7. Would you like to read more?

...

(Sorry if this sounds like a school exam. I'm afraid I've spent all too much time in school and have been formally brainwashed.)


	3. Ch 3: Warder of the Red Sister

**Warder of the Red Sister**

It felt much like being kicked in the head. A flare of agony that made his knees want to buckle.

Worse; it was followed by complete stillness.

Dahlan Gamyrrin, sergeant of the Tower Guard, was out in a courtyard teaching five new recruits to ride. They sat like sacks of potatoes in the saddles of the stable's most patient mounts, and Dahlan was close to despair. He had been told he had a good hand with horses, and on that basis he was assumed capable with recruits too… but the recruits appeared to have forgotten every word of each previous lesson. Dahlan had been about to open his mouth again to berate them, but that was when the pain had flared in Watene's bond, and the stillness followed.

The recruits must have thought him a stammering fool; he worked his jaw for a moment, unsteady on his feet. Something had happened to his sister, something _bad_ had happened to Watene, and now – now she was unconscious. Unconscious and unprotected and likely –

Without a word to the staring recruits, he rushed toward the Tower main, and prayed to the Light that he would not be too late. Cross the courtyard, through the entrance, so fast that he only realised much much later that the entrance had been without guard.

It was difficult to believe the chaos inside. The Tower was always clean and orderly, but when he reached the depths of the complex he found it smoky and partly in flames, furniture overthrown, carpets bloodied and servants at best cowering in corners, at worst spread empty-eyed and dead over the floor. The only thing that kept him from stopping and staring was the question of where to stop and at what to stare.

People had just begun to realise what was happening; begun to flee, and he shouldered and boxed and fought his way through a panicked throng heading _out_. Visitors and servants and guardsmen, all alike, were heading out. He even saw a few young women in Novice dresses, and a single white-faced Accepted.

He couldn't have imagined the reason before he saw it: two Warders engaged in battle in a wide side corridor, while an Aes Sedai leaned over a third who lay prone, setting her hands to his scalp –

Dahlan dropped to the carpets at the last moment to avoid a ball of flame headed for one of the battling Warders.

The Aes Sedai shrieked as fire swallowed one of the two, a shriek which turned rapidly to a moan. The man on the ground before her staggered up, swept an unsteady gaze around, and – after hitching an arm firm about the keening Aes Sedai – began to stumble away.

Fear rose in Dahlan and he ran on. He avoided all other Aes Sedai and Warders, rather taking the long safe route than the uncertain shortcut. But he headed unerring for the Red quarters, and as he ran he drew his sword. He had grown up amidst the servants of the Tower, and he knew their passages like the back of his hand. Now he used them. He was still in his uniform, and with his sword out most people leapt aside.

Not all. Coming around a corner – just as he realised that Watene was not _in_ her Ajah quarters, only nearby – he found his weapon snapped expertly out of his hand by a broadside across his fingers. In the next moment, his back hit a wall, and over a blade pressed against his throat, he saw a Warder's still face. One he recognized as a sporadic drill instructor, even if he couldn't remember his name.

"Whom do you serve?" the Warder growled. His voice kept as solid as his build; it had not grown thin like his white hair.

"The – the Tower!"croaked Dahlan. He began to raise his hands – and was rewarded by further uncompromising pressure of steel against his windpipe and a "_hold still_". He lowered his hands again.

"Which Ajah? The Light, or the Shadow? Why are you the only guardsman running _in_ when the rest can't wait to rush _out_?"

Dahlan felt his face flush with sudden anger. What nonsense was _this_? Watene needed him, and here he was held back by a man who should have known better. Which Ajah? The Tower Guard served all Ajahs. The Light, or the Shadow? He was no Darkfriend, burn it, and he wouldn't stand to be accused.

"I'm running _in_ because my sister is in here, and I mean to get her _out_," he gritted. His hands curled into fists. "And if the Ajahs slaughter each other and the whole bloody Tower falls on their thick heads, I don't _bloody_ care!"

"Haqon," came a light voice. "Release him."

Dahlan took a surprised breath as he was suddenly free.

A slight, white-haired Aes Sedai observed him calmly. "Go find your sister, boy. Before it's too late. Then do as the rest of the guards and run. The Tower will not be safe this night, nor the coming. Return when we have straightened out our differences."

"Begging pardon, Aes Sedai," muttered Dahlan. He jerked a bow and quickly retrieved his sword from the floor. "But what _is_ this mess?"

"Most of us don't know." Her smile might have turned summer to winter, and her eyes glinted with a dangerous amusement. "Most sisters likely fight just for their lives, but be wary. Aes Sedai fighting just for their lives kill whatever tickles their fear, and Warders fighting for their Aes Sedai kill whatever gets in their way. Then there are the Warders who've already lost their sisters… gripped by the death rage. Rabid, seeking throats to rip, seeking their own throats ripped."

Which explained _nothing_. Aware of Haqon's eyes on him, Dahlan fought to control his temper. He suspected that a sudden movement on his part would make the old Warder strike him down on pure reflex. He bowed his head again. "Thank you for the warning, Aes Sedai."

"Don't waste time, boy. Any moment in here you might die, and I don't suppose there's anyone else who might save your sister?"

_If I die, I will hurt her_, Dahlan thought in a panic.

He forgot the little Aes Sedai and her solid Warder. He ran on, and found his sister finally at the end of a corridor. The corner was outfitted as a gathering hall with sofas and armchairs and low tables beneath the large windows. The armchairs were overturned, one sofa cracked and one slowly burning, and the tables had been tossed about. Beneath one of them lay Watene.

If he hadn't felt the bond in his head, he would have thought her dead. She was so still, so pale, spread all too similarly to the corpses he had passed. Her forehead bled, and one arm looked broken. The sight made him want to weep. It made him angry. If only she had let him stay with her, he might have… he might have given her time to escape before she was hurt.

"Don't worry, Teeny," said Dahlan, and swallowed nervously as he knelt beside her. How to lift her up without harming her? He had to get her _out_.

He lifted her as gently as he could into his arms, her head against his shoulder, her broken arm resting across her belly. Carefully he rose to his feet. He wished he could have said she was a light burden, but that would have been a lie. She was _heavy_. She was as tall as he, tall for a woman, and he was near as slender as she. He berated himself for not being stronger. He had still not recovered from his time trying to passively die after he had been Gentled.

And in the short time since his sister had bonded him, and forced him to live… he hadn't felt like exercising or training. He bloody well hadn't _felt like it_. Now – and he set his teeth grimly – he had to pay the price.

He would take the servants' ways out. They were less full of battling sisters and maddened Warders. The nearest entrance into those hidden ways was a bit away. He dared not run with Watene hurt, dared not jostle her, so he crept along the corridor, near the walls, biting his lip and his ears pricked to catch any dangerous sound.

Burn it, but he was so frightened that he trembled. And Watene was hurt, which frightened him even more. And in a Tower full of Aes Sedai, he had no one to ask for Healing –

"Dahlan Gamyrrin, for the Light's sake, what are you _doing_ with her?"

Dahlan jumped, without thought heaved his sister onto his shoulder to free his swordsarm, and drew his sword. A Yellow sister half-ran towards him – no, she didn't half-run. She _strode with brisk dignity_. Her Warder tried to step between them, but she motioned him imperiously aside.

"Put her down!" she barked. "Gently now, _gently_. I can't Heal her if you break her neck with your manhandling."

Dahlan blinked. This was Talanee Miraniv, who had kept him alive after his Gentling, until his sister returned. Talanee Miraniv, who had suggested to his sister that she bond him, to give him a reason to live without _saidin_. He could hardly believe his good fortune. This one Aes Sedai he could surely trust –

"Be glad my Sarnon caught sight of you, boy," the Yellow sister snapped as she began examining Watene, already before he had lowered her to the floor. "In such a hurry, too, we could hardly keep up with you, so I suspected your sister might be hurt. There," she finished, as Watene convulsed on the floor. Talanee held her head still until the convulsion settled. "Easy now," she said more softly, and aimed a brisk smile down at Watene. "You're alright. Your brother has been worried about you."

To see his sister sit up, to feel the bond in his head alive and unharmed – only a little tired – was to see the sun rise. Dahlan reached down to help her to her feet. She pushed his hands away and tried to stand on her own, and he had to catch her twice before she relented and let him support her. She was dizzy, but strong-willed and stubborn and independent as ever and refusing to see it.

"Don't be a fool, now," Talanee said sharply to her. "Let the boy do his job."

Dahlan wanted to tell her that he was a sergeant of the Tower Guard, not a _boy_. Light, the woman had shown him more respect when he'd been ill and she'd tried to coax life to stay with him. It was as if _health_ reduced him back to a _child_.

"Do you know… what's going on?" muttered Watene, turning to Talanee.

"The Black Ajah, I suspect," Talanee said matter-of-factly. "I suggest we keep together. Two will be safer than one. I intend to catch whoever is responsible for this and see justice done."

"The _Blacks_?" scoffed Watene, though Dahlan felt how her mind reeled. "A _myth_."

Talanee raised an eyebrow. "Someone has been murdering supposed witnesses of the Black Ajah's existence, Watene. Moreover, someone seems to have goaded the Ajahs against each other. The Greens are at the throats of the Greys, or perhaps it's the other way around, most of the Yellows have isolated themselves in their quarters, as have the Whites, but the Blues are accusing the Reds of –"

"Yes, thank you, I've noticed," said Watene dryly. "I think… I think it was one of them who…" She paused, looked about her, and asked; "How did I…"

"I found you across your brother's shoulder," Talanee said, sounding genuinely amused. "He meant to _rescue_ you, I think."

Watene blinked, and looked at Dahlan. The bond in his head was not grateful – no, never that. It was considering. And frightened. _Frightened_? Why ever should she –?

The slap caught him fully by surprise. "Don't you have the sense to keep out of the way when Aes Sedai squabble?" she hissed. Now, she stood on her own, anger wild in her eyes. "You could have been _hurt_!"

He backed away. His face stung. "Well, I wasn't," he said defensively, silently deciding that she would never know of his close calls along the way. "And Teeny, how could I –"

"Don't you call me that!" she flared. "And don't –"

He grimaced. She hated the childish nickname – which was half the reason why he still used it – but perhaps _now_ hadn't been a good time.

"– you _dare_ contradict me. You could have been hurt, and how in the Light do you think I could have lived with myself if you got hurt because of _me_?"

He stared at her. He knew that Sarnon, too, stared at her, and Talanee had set a hand over her face and sighed heavily.

"Alright, so I'm sorry," he gritted.

"Don't you lie to me, Dahlan Gamyrrin!" she screeched. "Don't you think I _know_ when you lie? Especially _now_ when –"

There, she choked on her own words and swallowed them. It was as if someone had added to her an extra Oath: just like she could not lie, she _would not_ speak of the bond. She would not speak of how she, a Red sister to the marrow, had _bonded_ him. Her little brother.

She tried to pretend as if the bond didn't exist. And whenever he had come up to visit her, noticing some sign of strain or distress, she scolded him as badly as if he'd been a little boy who'd presumed to look up beneath a girl's skirts. As badly as if he'd presumed to look up beneath the bloody _Amyrlin's_ skirts.

Frankly, he was sick of it. Yes, he couldn't _act_ her Warder, but at the same time, how could he _not_? When something truly distressed her, he felt physically ill unless he could do something about it. When she cut her finger on a paper he knew it, when she stubbed a toe he knew it, when she was hungry or angry or afraid or tired he knew it, and wanted only to help. Light knew he didn't have much else to live for. The world was grey to him, the menial tasks of a sergeant which once had filled his hours seemed dull and meaningless. Even schooling the horses had no allure.

The only speck of life left was the bond in his head, but _she_ would keep him at a distance as much as she could. Her breath caught with fear of discovery every time he came to see her, and at best she would usher him into her quarters and preach to him why he shouldn't have come… he often found some Aes Sedai or other blocking his path when he tried to enter the Red quarters, and Watene didn't even come out to meet him and escort him inside. No men were allowed in Red quarters unescorted.

He had even heard rumours earlier about the four murdered Yellow sisters and gone up to see Watene, whose bond leaked unease. But her manner had been firm and her orders – orders! – coolly delivered. And all that she had told him while marching him back out of the Tower was that he was not to come running every time she was concerned, for she managed quite well without him, thank you very much. She made him feel as if he should have been thankful that she hadn't decided to drag him out by his ear like an errant child.

And now she stood there, yelling at him as if he should be asking her _forgiveness_ for trying to save her bloody life. His own sister. His own bloody _bonded_ sister.

He stared sullenly at her, until her tirade began to wear down… due to the Yellow's impatiently tapping foot. She swallowed, darted a cautious glance at Talanee, and then said in more moderate tones; "I don't suppose it helps that I yell, does it?"

"It doesn't," he said.

"Be glad he knew that you were hurt, Watene," admonished Talanee. "Who knows how long you might have lain unconscious otherwise?"

"You were careful, weren't you?" Watene demanded of him, her bond full of concern.

"Of course I was," he said. It wasn't a lie. Not completely.

"Can the two of you settle your differences at some more convenient time?" Talanee requested. "For now, Watene, I suggest you come with me. Two will be safer in these corridors than one, and I would not mind assistance in finding whoever is responsible for –"

"It's likely nothing more than some Blue's political fanaticism stirring up tempers," scoffed Watene.

"I've passed five dead sisters on the way here," Talanee said darkly. "And judging from the number of rabid Warders I've had to… ah… defend myself against." She drew her hair carefully out of her face and smoothed her skirts before she went on. "Considering them, I fear the tally of casualties is much higher. Sisters are killing one another, Watene. This is no political demonstration from the Blues, nor a burst of temper from the Greens. This is something else. All the Ajahs are involved. There are assassination attempts, and _successful_ assassinations, and I even heard that the Amyrlin's gone missing. That's why the Greens are roused, anyway. That, and some murder they claim a Grey did in their very quarters. Such nonsense. However could… well, I suppose it doesn't much matter, does it?"

The bond told Dahlan how Watene's head spun. Discreetly he stepped closer to her, ready to support her if she wavered again.

"Point is, Watene, I have reason to believe the Blacks are behind it, and I have one single clue in this assumption. I intend to find her."

"And why should I follow you, or help you with anything?" Watene muttered. "I think I'd rather just get my little brother somewhere safe and then find out what my Ajah –"

Talanee smiled like a cat when it played with its food. "Your little brother? Do you by any chance mean your clandestine _Warder_?"

Watene's face went white. In Dahlan's head, her bond gave a jolt of fear. He reached for his sword – then lowered his hand. What use would it be?

"I see you understand me," Talanee said.

"You wouldn't," breathed Watene. "You promised that you _wouldn't_."

"I'm sorry, Watene, but I am very much in need of someone I can trust, at least nominally, and under the circumstances… I feel that I can trust _you_."

"As much as you can trust anyone with an axe hanging over her head," Watene acceded in a toneless drone.

"It will do, for now. For you must agree, Watene, that if there _is_ a Black Ajah, it _must_ be rooted out."

Watene replied slowly. "Very well… I agree. I don't like it… but I agree."

"Excellent," Talanee murmured lightly.

Then, as they began walking, the Yellow explained.

Dahlan thought more and more that it might have been better if he had carried Watene out, wounded as she had been, instead of meeting Talanee.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Haven't I been a good girl? Just barely two weeks, and here's another chapter. *pats self on head*


	4. Ch 4: The Blue Sister

**The Blue Sister**

Ill was how Evain felt, though she hid it well. She was certain that no one but Contair could tell, and she was certain no one but Contair could tell how thankful she was for his presence. He _could_ tell. He stuck to her side like a shadow, his hand never far from his blade.

But at the time, their only living company was no threat. Was _hopefully_ no threat.

It was Evain's great-auntie, Lomiel, a diminutive White who few outside her Ajah knew. Rumour suggested that she had an acquaintance among the Reds, but Evain now knew the bloody truth of that. It was said she had once had a close friend among the Brown, but since that one's disappearance she had retreated completely to her studies. What was it she studied..? Something with flowers. Classifying flowers into families. A typical White chore, trying to create order where chaos ruled on the edict of nature. Who cared which flowers were related, and which weren't?

Lomiel was an unimportant solitary, and weak in the Power at that. It was a marvel that she had passed the test for Accepted, much less for Aes Sedai.

Evain's own strength surpassed her aunt's, but she had never been able to draw on that implied authority. Around other Aes Sedai Lomiel maintained the manner of a shy child. Most of the time; but Evain had seen her when 'most of the time' just didn't apply. So to instruct Lomiel on what to do was as far from her mind as to instruct the Amyrlin on how to wear her stole.

While Evain stood there, unable to make herself be useful, Lomiel sorted files with quick fingers, her pale blue eyes absorbing their contents.

Haqon, Lomiel's Warder, cleaned his knife meticulously on a handkerchief as he listened at the door. He then tossed the bloody cloth atop the room's last, and no longer living, occupant.

Hethre Tentorin had been the Mistress of Novices, appointed much to everyone's surprise, for she had never shown any prior interest in teaching. But she had proven a steadfast taskmistress, with a keen eye for troublemakers, and rarely in living memory had the Novice and Accepted quarters been so orderly, and their inhabitants so well behaved. Hethre had been proficient with a switch, and had applied it liberally – though never undeservedly – and she had had a sixth sense for dust specks on white dresses and Novices who didn't curtsy deeply enough.

According to Lomiel, the Mistress of Novices had also been of the Black Ajah.

She was the second Black they had visited that day, in quick succession. The second assassination, and Evain had already learned that though she despised Black sisters with all her being, she hadn't the heart for cold-blooded murder.

"Evain, my niece, would you…" Lomiel said vaguely and indicated Hethre's corpse.

Evain gathered herself and set weaves to burn the body to ashes. Ashes and dust, dust and ashes. Better than cooling, stiffening flesh and drying blood. Better, but not by far.

Their first target had been Covaide, presumably of the White Ajah, who had kept the White Eyes and Ears. She and Lomiel had linked to shield the other woman, and Lomiel had asked questions, many of which she had already known the answers to, and untruthful responses had cost Covaide dearly.

The White would no longer have Eyes and Ears, Lomiel had told Evain curtly when she had asked how that wealth of information and contacts would be passed on. Lomiel doubted that more than one or two Whites would even notice the loss.

Something Evain just couldn't understand. To hold knowledge of the political and economical situation in a place, knowledge of its people's mindset and its ruler's intentions, that was crucial to any understanding or influence. To not have Eyes and Ears… would be like not having eyes or ears.

_They would not even notice the loss..?_

The Ajahs were very different, she concluded, and set the matter aside. She had more pressing things on her mind.

With a snap Lomiel shut the last cabinet, and it was all Evain could do not to jump.

"Finish that so we can go, my niece," said Lomiel.

Evain doubled the strength of her weaves.

A tiny gesture from Lomiel sent Haqon darting out to check the corridors, and Contair moved to take his place at the door.

"What do we do now?" Evain asked. She tried to forget that it was a human body, an Aes Sedai, that her weaves were incinerating.

A Black sister. Light have mercy, but the Mistress of Novices had been _Black_. All those children, in the hands of a Black sister… Evain couldn't decide if she was more enraged or afraid, but in any case it made her queasy. Who knew what the woman might have done to her charges? _Recruitment_ wasn't the worst of it.

"You heard what she told us as well as I did," Lomiel said calmly. "What do you think we are about to do?"

Evain had heard. She drew a deep breath. "We must stop them from killing the Amyrlin."

"We must do no such thing," Lomiel intoned firmly. Haqon came back through the door and gave her a small nod. All was clear.

Evain didn't understand. "But –"

"My dearest niece, what were you planning to do? Position yourself in front of the Amyrlin and hold back the entire Black Ajah on your own, perhaps? No. You're not some fool Warder – pardon, Haqon –"

Haqon's smile was somehow _fond_ rather than insulted.

"– and you most definitely are not _her_ fool Warder. If the Blacks want her dead, then a pity it is, but she's not important enough to merit saving."

"Not – not _important_ –" managed Evain. The Amyrlin was the most –

"Try to see the bigger picture, my niece. She is _one_ Amyrlin. There were Amyrlins before her, there will be Amyrlins after her. Then look at us. We acknowledge that the Blacks exist, we have leads on them, and we fight them. If we sacrifice ourselves for some noble cause, who will be left to fight them? No, Evain, _we must do no such thing_."

"So we're just going to let them kill her?"

Now Lomiel's lips quirked in what might have been a smile, but her words made Evain feel cold: "Certainly not. We are going to use her as bait."

Haqon led through the chaos-ridden corridors, often taking the servant's back ways instead of the main paths. Evain and Lomiel followed, side by side, with Contair trailing not far behind. Both Aes Sedai held to the Power, and both Warders had their blades out.

Lomiel had been right. Fear and death had spread like wild-fire through the Tower, though it was never quite clear what it was about. One howling Warder, made short work by Haqon, attacked unprovoked, and Lomiel muttered something about his eyes, and how his Aes Sedai must have been dead.

Lomiel spoke as they walked, told Evain things she would have been happier not knowing, and Evain did her best to turn the monologue into a sporadic dialogue. Still, it irked her that much as Lomiel spoke, she revealed close to nothing. For all her White-ness, Evain's aunt had that political talent of talking freely without revealing a thing. A talent that was much admired among Blues.

"This is an excellent opportunity to thin out the Black's ranks," Lomiel said quietly, as she rose from the side of a servant woman she had Healed. The woman remained unconscious, but now at least she would _live_. "Which is what I've been doing for years. But only when they leave the Tower – alas, some never leave the Tower. I've awaited a chance like this for _decades_."

Her words conveyed exuberance, but her face and voice remained calm. Evain tried to match that calm, even though there was nothing to merit calmness. "You told me that they existed, and that you hunted them, but you always refused to tell me who, or what, or when. To keep me safe, I know. But now I'm involved, auntie. Don't you think it's time you told me more? For instance, how do you know who is Black?"

"I have a list of those I am sure of." She tapped her temple. "And to be safe..." She gestured forwards at Haqon. "Should I fall, he has his orders."

Haqon, having heard, or perhaps just having understood in that way Warders sometimes did, paused to look at them. "I have my orders," he repeated tonelessly. Then he went on with his scouting.

But Evain bit her lip. A very childish gesture, she knew, but she couldn't always help it. "No disrespect, auntie," she said. "But shouldn't you tell _me_? After all... Haqon's just a Warder."

"Haqon is as capable a Warder as they come," Lomiel assured her. "And as for you, my niece... maybe. But there is such a thing as knowing too much. You have an honest face, and it is only with great pain that you can keep it and your temper smooth when something upsets you. Sometimes, I can't believe you didn't choose _Green_. Someday, perhaps. For now, follow me."

Evain didn't have much choice. That irked her, too.

"Hold up!" came a cry from behind.

Evain was full of the Power at once, and Contair moved like sudden wind to position himself and his drawn sword between her and the possible threat.

"Easy, Contair," said Sarnon, and as a gesture of peace he lowered his sword. Only _lowered_, but that was fine; this day no Warder would sheathe.

Both Evain and Contair knew Sarnon, a nondescript man aside from a pair of deeply hazel eyes, a Warder bonded to Talanee Sedai of the Yellow.

Talanee was one of the few people Evain felt she could actually _trust_. The woman had saved her life when she could have let her die. The woman had saved her life when the Blacks wanted her dead.

Evain touched Contair's sword arm. He lowered his own blade.

Lomiel, with Haqon now at her side, caught sight of Talanee and with a start bobbed a curtsey and lowered her gaze. Evain managed not to stare. Considering Talanee's strength, perhaps she too ought to curtsey, but she had met the Yellow often and Talanee had required no such formalities.

"There you are, Evain," Talanee murmured. "How is your head?"

"As good as ever, Talanee," Evain said, and dipped her head. It was _not_ a small curtsey, just a nod. The Yellow _did_ stand high above her.

A shift in the bond – wariness – warned her when another Aes Sedai appeared, even before she felt the woman's ability. Contair must have heard steps.

This was a Red sister, whom Evain recalled vaguely. A dozen years ago, she had taught the girl Novice exercises. Her name was… Wanda? Watain? She couldn't remember.

"Watene is with me," Talanee said coolly, with a glance over her shoulder. And a sharp look at Evain. "But it shames us all that Aes Sedai jump when their own sisters appear. There… _should be_ no need."

"There should not," Evain agreed, all while she was very aware of Lomiel behind her, as demure as a serving maid.

Watene eyed Evain as uncertainly as Evain did her. Until Talanee's very blank look passed over them both, and they both blushed and looked aside.

At Watene's shoulder trailed a junior officer of the Tower Guard. His eyes darted skittishly back and forth. They stopped for a while at Haqon, and again at Lomiel, then turned away with a deliberateness which to Evain was more reason for suspicion than if he had shouted and pointed: he had seen Lomiel and Haqon before, and he wasn't very pleased to see them again.

Talanee introduced him with a curt gesture as Watene's little brother, and Evain nodded understanding. The two bore an obvious family resemblance, equally tall and willowy, chestnut-haired and green-eyed. They even had the same square cheekbones.

Then Evain glared at her Warder. He coughed hastily and looked elsewhere: he had noticed a feature of Watene's that her brother did not share; her ample bosom and the scandalously low neckline of her dress. He had noticed it very intently.

_Men_.

Oh, Evain was not jealous. Watene was Red, and Contair knew better. He had just _looked_. So she was most definitely not jealous. He was _her_ bloody Warder, and no amount of bosom would change that.

Evain smoothed her skirts. Had Talanee been searching for her? She would have been easy enough to find. Talanee had Healed her several times, and Healing left that _affinity_. She herself had no skill for Healing, but she knew the theory.

"The Tower is troubled today," Talanee went on, and even to Evain it was clear that Talanee was doing her best to not let that trouble affect her. Or at least not let that effect show. "Best if we keep together."

_That_ might as well have been a command. Evain scrambled for a reason to escape it, but her mind was blank.

"Yes, Talanee," agreed Lomiel meekly with another curtsey.

Evain _did_ stare. Haqon, at Lomiel's shoulder, apparently had no trouble with his Aes Sedai's sudden deferential manner. He himself appeared no more than an old hound, faithful as ever, but made toothless and half-blind by the long years.

But Lomiel _agreed_? Evain held her peace, but her mind reeled. What of the _Amyrlin_? What of the _Black Ajah_?

Talanee barely acknowledged Lomiel, instead raising a questioning eyebrow at Evain.

"This is my aunt," Evain told her. "Great-aunt, I should say. Lomiel Tarbonel, of the White."

"I do know her," Talanee murmured. "We were Accepted together. Long ago." A second look at Lomiel, but the way she then turned aside spoke clear dismissal. Lomiel was weak in the Power, and too unimportant for one such as Talanee to notice. "Come, Evain. Walk with me."

Evain fell in beside the Yellow. There was nothing for it.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I've looked in on the Novices and Accepted," Evain said. Well, she and Lomiel _had_, if only in order to find Hethre. "I teach classes. I was concerned for them."

Talanee's face set in disapproval. "There should be no need."

Lomiel and Watene trailed them – Lomiel meek and Watene sullen. Sullenness was so unbecoming. At some silent agreement, the Warders and that young officer had spread around them all.

Haqon had paused to catch the young officer's arm and spoke a few words to him before releasing him. It could have been nothing, but from the boy's annoyed expression, Evain deduced that it was _something_. She would ask Haqon later – no. She would ask _Lomiel_.

Talanee spoke. "Tell me, Evain. Do you truly believe it was the Black Ajah who assaulted you?"

Evain's toes caught on the floor and she almost fell. Talanee and Contair were equally quick to catch an arm each and steady her.

"The B-black Ajah?" she managed weakly. "Why –"

"Don't play with me," Talanee cut in, her voice honed to a razor. She held tight to Evain's arm – so tight that on her other side, Contair glared and might take action any moment. Talanee's finger's dug to the point of pain, and her words were just as sharp. "Four Yellows are dead because they wished to address the Amyrlin concerning that remnant Warder, the same remnant because of whom _you_ had your head so _incompetently_ bashed. Coincidence, Evain, only stretches so far."

"Release my arm," Evain said as steadily as she could.

Talanee did. "You trust your aunt, I presume? Good. Watene is beholden to me, and she can keep a secret. Speak freely, Evain. But control your Warder. He is much too temperamental."

Evain gaped. _Control her Warder_? Who did the woman think she was? Her Warder – her Warder, _hers_! – could be as bloody _temperamental_ as he bloody well _pleased_, and it was none of Talanee's business.

Contair, however, took a step back and ceased to loom over her, ceased to glare daggers at Talanee. Evain felt a stab of annoyance. In response, almost as if in _excuse_, abashment came through the bond.

Well. She would not _glare_ at him. There was enough glaring going on as things were. In the end, he _knew_ whom he belonged to. He knew who to take instruction from. A misstep or two was forgivable.

"Speak up!" snapped Talanee. "I have no time to dawdle."

Evain closed her mouth firmly. To gape was beneath her. She did not look at Lomiel; she stood above her aunt, however natural it felt to follow her lead. "Yes," she said finally, angry at herself for how strangled her voice came, but she couldn't make it louder. "Yes, I believe it was… the Black Ajah. That remnant Warder, me, those four Yellows…"

"Do you have suspects?" Talanee demanded. She very much looked like a hawk who sought mice to swoop down upon. Evain wished she could be certain she herself was no mouse. And Lomiel was of no help. Did her aunt trust her to be silent, or did her aunt mean her to speak?

"You _do_ have suspects," Talanee concluded in crisp satisfaction. "Who?"

"_I_ have no suspects," Evain said carefully. The suspects were all _Lomiel's_, and she was as closemouthed on it as a clam on a pearl. "But a suspected target. The Amyrlin."

Talanee's smile was slow and mirthless. "I disagree. The Amyrlin herself is a suspect. See, my four friends went to address _her_ concerning the Black. They intended Rill's testimony for evidence, but of a sudden, Rill was dead, and they were murdered _upon their audience with the Amyrlin Seat_."

Evain shook her head before she knew what she was doing. The Amyrlin herself, commit murder in her very chamber? That would have been too obvious. She was not surprised; Yellows were not known for their political perceptivity.

"It's bloody foolish, that's what it is!" hissed the Red – Watene – who stalked up on Talanee's other side. "Come now, Talanee. You must see it. The _Amyrlin_! How could she be _Black_? If there even _is_ a Black –"

"By pure misfortune, or by the doubtable grace of those who chose her."

"Ri-ridiculous!" spluttered Watene.

Talanee coolly eyed the younger woman. "It is that sort of attitude which might allow the Blacks to thrive in the Tower. It's like allowing a wound to fester because we're too stiff-necked to admit we've been hurt. I knew a man who did so, once." She glanced at her Warder, who studiously ignored her. "I put _him_ straight, and I intend to put the Tower straight." She said it as if she meant to lay the Tower over her knee and spank it until it saw sense. Evain almost believed she would.

"I thought you didn't believe in the Black Ajah," Evain said.

"Suffice to say that I have been… made aware of the possibility. Now close your mouth, Watene, before you say something unnecessary. I've had enough of your prattle."

Evain snuck a glance at the Red, who was near red-faced with outrage. She returned Evain's glance with a glare, and at once smoothed her face and tilted her chin up.

A typical snotty-nosed Red. Evain hated the Reds. They wouldn't see a thing if it bit their noses. In fact, if it _did_ bite their noses, they might even close their eyes, so they wouldn't have to _see_ it.

However, as a point of interest, it might prove amusing to find out how deep a thing would need to bite before a Red would admit that it was there. Evain found herself meeting Watene's arrogant glare with a cool smile, and the Red finally looked aside.

"Talanee," came Lomiel's respectful tones, and Evain caught her tiny aunt's curtsey out of the corner of her eye. "If I – if I may, Talanee. I know a thing or two of the Blacks, and…"

Talanee took a short moment to measure Lomiel, to judge her strength in the Power, and her now-so-quiet manner. "Perhaps it would be better if you returned to your rooms and stayed there until this has all cooled down," she said finally, crisp as ever but not unkindly. At the last moment she seemed to bite back on her words, as if an addition of 'child', like spoken to an Accepted or a Novice, had almost escaped her.

"I will _not_," Lomiel defied, but with her eyes still lowered. "Pardon – pardon me, Talanee. But I _will not_. I wish to help, and I –"

"Lomiel, child," murmured Talanee, but no one but Evain seemed to notice her slip of tongue. "Are you certain? This is a far throw from your flowers. It may require a more aggressive… a more _violent_ –"

"Aggressive?" repeated Lomiel, and looked up. Her voice, from demure, was now hard as iron. Ostensibly she had had enough, and had torn her facades right down. Watene took a sudden step back – even Evain gave a start. Only Talanee did not move; but Lomiel met her eyes as if to stare her too down, and her every sentence came like the blow of hammer against anvil. "I can handle _aggressive_. I can handle _violent_. I'd rather see the Tower _burn_ than let the Blacks have it."

In the silence that followed, Evain tried mouthing the same words herself. They came out – the Oath against lying did not hold them back. She straightened, and blazed her fiercest smile at her aunt. "I'll hand you the torch."

Surprise flickered past Lomiel's face, as open and apparent as on a child's face when given an unexpected new toy. It disappeared quickly, but it _had_ been there, and it was the most human expression Evain had ever seen her aunt display. White Ajah dignity did not allow many displays of emotion.

Lomiel touched Evain's arm. Again she was all cool and dignity, again that demure lady's maid, but Evain suspected there was warmth behind the touch. "I'm glad to hear it, my niece."

"Very well, Lomiel," Talanee said quietly, clearly taking a new measure of the little White. Her expression was very odd: sort of sad, as if there was something she wished to say, something she wished to do. As if – Evain realised – she wanted to throw her arms about Lomiel's neck and hug her, but… didn't dare. Evain filed that little inkling away for future reference. So Talanee and Lomiel had been Accepted together, had they? Perhaps they had also been friends. And the overwhelming difference in Power-strength would have put an abrupt end to _that_ once they were raised to the shawl.

Now they watched one another like stranger cats come face to face in a narrow alley. One would have to yield. Evain had no wish to be caught between them. Talanee's strength and arrogance against Lomiel's inexorable will. One would have to yield.

"Tell us what you know," Talanee said; a phrase which yielded nothing.

So Lomiel smiled, and spoke… and thus changed everything.

The reason why she had not spoken up before, why she had not told Evain alone, was immediately clear. What she now suggested could never have been accomplished by just the two of them. But with Watene, and with Talanee's immense strength added to their cause… they might just stand a chance.

_No,_ came her second thought, and her throat went dry. _Light help and preserve us, we're all going to die. If we're lucky._

* * *

_Author's Note:_

*evil little laugh* I do so enjoy writing of Lomiel. And Talanee.

And the rest of them, too, come to think of it.

Now finish "Gathering Storm" so you can read (and review!).


	5. Ch 5: The Brown Sister

**The Brown Sister**

The Tower was in chaos, and Jahra – engrossed in her latest fascination for Tower Darkfriends – already suspected that the Black Ajah was behind it. Who else would sow such misery in Aes Sedai ranks?

She very much needed to research the causes for former Tower rebellions more closely. They were in the secret histories, but Jahra had had… unofficial access… to such records since she'd been Accepted. Perhaps Yamela had been a bad influence on her. Or perhaps not. Curiosity had always been her greatest weakness, and when a Sitter's left-open book had caught her interest, she had checked the inside of the cover for where to find it in the library, and been much surprised to learn of a thirteenth depository. Which she had been absolutely forced to locate and explore.

So the urge had been hers. But for the actual _deed_, Yamela had proven invaluable. Yamela was an accomplished lock-pick, and somehow that talent transferred to being able to nimbly pick her way through Power-wrought wards. Very useful.

When this chaos had all begun and interrupted her belated breakfast, Jahra had toyed with the idea of heading for the Brown quarters to ask Ullara, who knew more Tower secrets than anyone else, but she had abstained. The Ajah quarters might still be in unrest, or worse; the Council might have decided to enforce a curfew and keep its members inside until things had cooled down. Jahra had no intentions of being confined to her rooms when there was studying to be done. So instead she had headed for the library, reasoning that it might be one of the few places where there would be no fighting and no random destruction. Not even the Black Ajah could be so ruthless.

Unless they decided that knowledge was dangerous and it would be best to simply burn it all to cinders. In which case, she had better be at hand to stop it.

Her thoughts did stray to her Warder, for Jored was frantically worried. He was on his way to find her. She was not particularly concerned for him. He would find her in due time, and he was unharmed, and he was sensible enough to keep out of unnecessary trouble.

Now and then her route was impeded by skirmishes or fires. Yamela would have been proud of her, and Jored would have been pleased; they likely thought she would have walked straight through the flames and tried to pass a battle between rabid Warders without more than a murmur of 'excuse me'. Instead, she put out the fires, and where she found men battling men without any sisters present, she bound and gagged them all with Air and tied off the weaves. That should hold them quiet for a few hours, and someone could deal with them once things had settled down.

Some of them were bleeding, and might not live out the day, but she would have done more harm than good had she tried to Heal anyone.

The sight of Aes Sedai facing one another off made her mutter disapprovingly. But she had never been very good at dodging, so it was in her best interests to keep away from Power versus Power combat.

News flew fast as fireballs through the corridors. The Greens attacking the Greys. The Yellows and Whites barricaded in. The Browns in a fluttering flurry somewhere between excited note-taking and fearful fretting. The Blues and the Reds at each others' throats, although _that_ was hardly news. Likely all incited by the Blacks. And the missing Amyrlin… yes, that too.

Much ado about nothing was how Jahra thought. The Black Ajah had surely woven webs in Tower life for centuries. The Tower would hardly change forever due to this. People always thought their own troubles and affairs more important than they actually were. The Tower would endure, the Light would endure, and very probably, so would the Black Ajah.

No matter Lomiel's little crusade. Very laudable of her, but in the long run likely futile.

Still, it was a relief to reach the library without serious incident. She used the Novice entrance, at the back, and came into… darkness. The library was pitch black. The librarians must have abandoned their posts. Otherwise, there was always light in the library. Always.

She continued on quiet feet, under the circumstances glad for how the darkness helped hide her. She was comfortable enough in the dark. It was people that made her wary.

She had discovered her gift for channelling while sneaking into her father's study to read his books after bedtime. She had learned soon that lighting a lamp to read by meant quick discovery, so thus she began to try to read in the moonlight by the window. At first her eyes had been strained, and she had seen little, but somehow she gradually saw more and more, until she could read in any light, even in the black hollow under her father's heavy wooden writing desk. She had unwittingly developed a trick with the Power to see in the dark.

Once, when they were Novices, she had tried to share it with Yamela, but it hadn't worked for her. Curiously it worked when she applied it on Jored. Some day she would figure out why.

Not far into the library, she began to hear loud whispers. Jahra shook her head in disapproval. Unheard and unseen she navigated the labyrinth of shelves to the hidden entrance of the thirteenth depository, which was behind a shelf in a side wing of the library. She found her way with a mix of memory and her Power-induced, fancifully named 'cat eyes', and avoided the voices. As long as no one was burning books, they had as much right to the library as she had. Even if being so noisy was rude.

One voice rose in a hiss; "I'm telling you, they _should_ be here! And no matter how urgent this mess is, it'll be easier if we waited here than if we search the Tower, we don't even know for _whom_! Or has the First Heart seen fit to inform _you_ on their names?"

Jahra shook her head ruefully. Whoever that was, had no respect for the library peace. If the librarians had been there, and heard…

"I'm just not eager to waste my time because your _one other_ has started _improvising_!" snapped a deeper voice in reply. "Hethre's disappearance is bad enough, I don't want to bring news of something else that might make them angry."

Hethre, the Mistress of Novices? Jahra made a mental note of the mention. This argument might well be part of the conspiracy currently rocking the Tower, and she was curious enough to keep an ear on it. But she had business to go about, too. Her finger tapped a specific spot on the side of a shelf. A weave seemed to spring out of the wood and grow apparent. She had no idea how it could remain usually hidden, but so it was, and it only came up if summoned. Someday she would figure out why.

It was an old weave – she could tell from the style – but it worked like a lock. And after a bit of tweaking, Yamela had learned the key.

"My one other will be _commended_," scoffed the first. "The bitch. She's solving a problem for us, and if I know her, she'll do it neatly. And she'll wring every last drop of advantage out of her success."

As tiny as she could make it – as to not catch any attention – Jahra formed the key of Spirit and carefully applied it over the other weave. The solid wood panel in front of her opened up like a curtain, and she stepped through. It closed behind her when she touched it, and all sense of the violent channelling that was going on all around the Tower vanished as if cut away with a sharp knife, the faint presence of women able to channel nearby also disappeared. The ward that hid the depository also made certain to hide the ability and channelling of the women inside it – or outside it, which was likely a sideeffect. Someday, she would figure out how.

But fortunately she could still hear the voices.

There had been a short silence from the noise-perpetrators. Then, the main door to the library swung violently open. "There had better be a reason for you two being here." The new voice was one of firm command. An aged voice, like the blackened, crisp edge of roasted bread crackling between fingers, a sound that told how the bread would leave a bad taste of burnt in your mouth.

Jahra nodded to herself. That was Ullara's voice of displeasure. Ullara was a librarian. She would set the others straight in a whiff.

In response to Ullara's words came agreement so soft that Jahra heard no more than the hum of meek voices. She nodded contently to herself again. Trust Ullara to sort things out. A bit of conspiracy was no match for her.

In the blessed quiet that followed, as the two voices murmured and Ullara's was just louder enough to imply authority, Jahra carefully advanced into the single aisle of the hidden depository. If there had been anyone there, she should have seen a lamp, so she was certain that she was quite alone. As far as she knew she was the only Aes Sedai who didn't need to make a ball of light for herself in dark places.

"I've heard enough. I understand how the loss of a member of your Heart would weaken you. But have you carried out your assignments?"

That was a new voice, loud, but Ullara said nothing against it? Strange. Jahra pricked her ears...

Ah, there it was. The records of the first known Tower rebellion. Her hands trembled slightly as she took it off the shelf and steadied it against her hip. It was a beautiful volume, its leather painted with faceless Aes Sedai wrapped in their coloured shawls, surrounded by a bright artistic rendering of weaves of the Power, clasped closed by a delicate silver buckle. It was old and frail, but when she tested the Keeping that kept it from rotting she found them in good condition. Pleased, she steadied it carefully against her hip and sought out its more interesting neighbours. She began to pile books atop it.

"This one other. She is certain she can handle the problem and that other Green on her own?"

"She's brought help," one of the first voices piped up. Then eagerly continued; "But what's more, we heard that Maeba and Velde should have been –"

A thin leather folder with notes. She would have to take care with the papers inside, they were ready to crumble, despite the Keepings woven over them.

"– too late for that now, they will have to wait. Was there anything else?"

Really – no _manners_. And why did Ullara tolerate it? Had she abandoned her post again? Jahra couldn't believe that of the grandmotherly old woman.

But it was Ullara's voice that spoke up next, sharp and cold; "No, you may _not_! You've been told your business. Be off and be about it!"

A scurry of feet and a door opening and closing.

"Nerveless geese," sniffed one of the remaining woman, the one whose voice had never been lowered to begin with. "I suppose we had better keep our masks on, in case more of them wander in. You are certain that this place is empty?"

"The librarians have all been called back to Ajah quarters, for their own safety. And who else would come here, now? Besides. I can't feel any channellers near by. Can _you_?" The last was said with an undercurrent of challenge, as between two women close in strength but not completely certain of each other.

"If I had, I would have said so. You said you've spoken to Nartilde? Is _she_ secure?"

"Nartilde will join us shortly, and the Amyrlin is quite secure. One of her Warders was ours, and we had him turn on his brothers. The shock of it left her too rattled to resist much when we took her. She was hardly even bruised." Now Ullara's voice wasn't lowered either, and cut the quiet easily. If Jahra had been of a nervous disposition, she supposed that voice would have caused her hairs to stand on end. As it was, her hairs remained in their customary placid state, and all Jahra did was to continue listening with one ear. Perhaps she would glean something useful.

She sat herself down at a table, near the entrance to the depository, and fished the oldest volume out of her pile. Despite the Keeping it had to be handled with care – the binding was new, but the pages had yellowed with age. She opened to the registry, found the proper chapter, and carefully turned the papers until she reached it. She began to read.

"What else do we know from the Greens? A shame that Velde survived. She can too easily pull the reins on the Greens, and we want them rampaging."

"Samsere is dead, Rovaide is dead, and her Warders took the bait, as we had hoped. As for Maeba and Velde, we could have Polinne figure something out. That one is too sly by half."

"No. It really _is_ too late for that. If Velde is alive, by now she will have organised the Greens and whatever we do will be noted and remembered. She and Maeba must wait for another time."

Jahra leaned back into her chair to consider the introductory paragraphs of the chapter's first page. Perhaps this was not what she had been looking for. She wanted something on the ways of people, the turning of their minds, how to taint what was essentially good into evil. How to corrupt a system. How that system had, in the past, been corrupted.

The voices dwindled to some level near acceptable, low, and made it difficult for Jahra to make out any more words. She focused on her reading until they grew louder again. A door had opened and closed, and one of the voices was new.

"There you are! You'll never believe how glad I am for the excuse to come up here, those bloody Half-men had me crawling out of my skin –"

Jahra looked up. _Half-men_? Half-men! Why hadn't she thought of _them_?

"They're necessary, as you know, Nartilde," Ullara's reasoning cut in. "And as I recall, they are here on your initiative."

"That doesn't mean I have to _like_ them."

_Myrddraal_, of course, it seemed so obvious now. They were walking specimens of the Dark One's taint, and tainted whatever they touched. Their blades left wounds that would not heal, and their gaze-that-was-no-gaze brought out the meanest of man's traits; cowering, paralyzing fear. The taint, and _fear_. If there was anything that might be used to distort a good soul… Jahra left her place and returned to the shelves to pick out more books.

"I don't think I'll ever feel clean again," the new voice went on. "Channelling through those things is like diving into a stink-bog. Didn't help that a third of the circle broke down and puked half-way through the procedure."

But it was unlikely Myrddraal had ever been used in any fashion to sow the taint and fear into the Tower itself. No Aes Sedai would stand for it, and such creatures of the Shadow could not be easily concealed. Every Warder in residence would prowl about like a hissing cat if he sensed the like of a Myrddraal in Tar Valon.

_If_ he sensed it. If he wasn't distracted by…

"Did they, now? Do you know which ones?"

"Of course I don't know _which ones_. They had their masks on. You didn't see fit to inform me which Hearts were present for this escapade, either."

Jahra scanned the shelves, again tapping covers and collecting a decent pile, all balanced on her hip. Even here in the secret records, much about Shadowspawn was guesswork or unknown. But there might be some hint…

Thankfully, as she returned to her desk, the three voices were quieter again, and let her dig into her studies. A heavy tome on the aura of Myrddraal and how it touched people. There was even a theory that this was how the creatures _found_ people. _Fascinating_, Jahra had already decided, after she'd skimmed the introductions.

"But," interrupted Ullara then, "we still don't know if _he_ will approve of this enterprise. It's blatant. Bold. And _he_ has always preferred us to work in the shadows."

"How could he not approve? He will be pleased with us when he returns, to find the Tower in our hands."

Jahra sighed as her peace was broken again. Apparently these _were_ the ones engaged in the coup that had turned the Tower on its head. She wished Yamela had been with her, for her friend might have been able to come up with some sort of plan. She herself didn't see much of a reason to try to interfere; she alone would be no match for a group of Aes Sedai. Jored would be pleased to learn that she had kept her head down. The best she could do was to listen, and – naturally – continue reading. If she met Yamela later they would speak of it. But like so many other sudden uproars in history, likely it would all boil over and calm down by morning. The Hall would choose a new Amyrlin and seal all this into the secret histories and the Tower would pretend it had never happened. The Tower was very good at such things.

The three voices spoke on, all confident and without whispering. Jahra turned another page in her book. There was an entire chapter on the psychology of fear, and what fear made you do. Perfectly fascinating. She leaned back in her chair to consider.

There had never been an easy definition of fear, nor of courage. The stories – and _histories_, Light help her – all spoke of courage. Of facing your foes, meeting a charge, the glory of a last desperate stand. Some king or general would rally his troops with "For this kingdom or that, I bid you stand!"

Those kings or generals never seemed to mention that _dying_ was a quite common side effect of _standing_, and men were by nature afraid of dying. They would go to extreme lengths to avoid it. Bravery, then, was to ignore that fear. But where did bravery turn into foolery? Both men and nations, and some women too, had fallen because they lacked the sense to walk away, and not always for a cause of any worth.

Fear, had it been a thing of reason, would have been fear of wild beasts and the like, and things of the Shadow. Bravery there was commendable, for fighting the Shadow was one thing. But men fighting men over trifles, over temporal dust… being brave for the sake of glory and riches… there was little sense to it. That self-delusion had turned many a good ruler into a despot, and many a man into a ruthless marauder.

Bravery needed to be balanced, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Too much bravery – where bravery descended into violent _callousness_ – might as well have been a thing of the Shadow.

Someone should take all of those brave souls by the scruffs of their necks and shake them. Beginning with most of the Green Ajah. Just look at today. Rousing the Greens was a sure way to start a fire in the Tower. None of them had likely intended it, but… the Greens had a way of getting out of hand, and more often than not, their Warders were even worse.

It was less bloody to simply talk things through. Almost anyone could be reasoned with.

Light help her, she was thinking like a Grey. But that was not such a bad thing. After all, it would be easier to study people still alive than people chopped to pieces. And her dear Jored would likely feel much better if he knew that the nearby people were unlikely to chop _her_ to pieces while she studied.

Firmly she turned her mind back to the matter at hand. Bravery over temporal dust was an ongoing foolery of mankind, but not important at the moment. Important at the moment was the effect of a Myrddraal's aura on men who usually would have thought themselves brave…

Did a Myrddraal represent death, the ultimate ingrained fear of all living things? Or did it simply appeal to the baser character of men, where the Shadow could find easier purchase?

_Light_, here she was, thinking philosophically of Myrddraal, when she had been about to seek out the reasons for previous Tower rebellions! She tsk-ed at herself and shut the book. As far as she remembered, there were no mentions of Myrddraal in connection to any Tower rebellion.

No mentions of the Black Ajah, either, though she was certain they had been there, working from the shadows. Who else would sow such misery in the Tower, after all?

Well, perhaps a fall-out between the Reds and the Blues… but no. They were political enemies, true enough, but she couldn't see how the Ajah Heads would let things so out of hand…

The three voices had finished their conversation in hushed tones – and the creak of a door opening and closing told how one of them left. Two voices continued for a while.

On an impulse, Jahra began replacing the books on the shelves. She would have preferred to leave them out, but she knew better than to leave traces of her activities in this secret place. One, however, she kept with her as she snuck out through the door-opening weave as quietly as she had entered and… with her 'cat eyes', she could see the two remaining women through the gaps between the books and the shelves. She pocketed her borrowed book. When one of the two turned to leave through the main enterance, the other headed for a side exit. Jahra toed after her, coming at an angle to catch her. The two must have been absorbed in their discussion, not to notice a woman who could channel so close to them, but that was their problem, not Jahra's.

The one she followed, noticed Jahra just as she was close enough to touch her arm. She jerked away and clutched for the Source, the light of _saidar_ filling her, making her shine in the dark. Jahra blinked and averted her eyes – while using her cat eyes, the light of _saidar_ was painful to behold, like staring into a sun.

"Oh, don't look so startled, I've been here all along," Jahra said, her face slightly turned aside and her eyes behind a shielding hand. Her other hand deftly fished out a notebook and a charcoal-tipped pen. Ink was such a bother for quick notes – she much preferred charcoal. One just had to be careful with the pages later. "I couldn't help but hear your conversation, well, pieces of it, and I have a question for you."

"A question?" hissed the other, voice strained with annoyance.

"Yes precisely, a question. Are you, by any chance, of the Black Ajah?"

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_(((This chapter was revised 27/4/2012)))_

This chapter has been giving me such trouble, you couldn't believe it. First there was the matter of Jahra splitting her attentions. Then there was her tendency to go off on this limb or that - most of which I've ended up cutting out. But that's Jahra, so some of it had to be there.

Then there was the matter of which Blacks should be in attendance, and what they should reveal. I've puzzled back and forth and wondered how much was too much, how much was too little, how much should Jahra actually hear, and how much of this should the reader know of..?

Finally, there was the "how much should Jahra react to what's being said" aspect. As I was heading up to that specific ending, there needed to be some hint underway that she had taken in at least some of what she had heard. But of course, not too much.

The only part of this chapter that was ever fixed and firm in my mind was the end. I simply love the picture of Jahra heading up to a suspected Black sister and asking her straight out of she's Black. This, while half-blinded because of her cat eyes, with a notepad in her hands, without holding the Power, and without her Warder there... so _very_ Jahra. She's so busy accumulating information, that it just doesn't cross her mind how it might be dangerous. Like heading out to pick mushrooms in the Blight.

Jored's right to worry about her, isn't he?

Now, as it's taken me so long to get this done, be good little readers and tell me what you think. Inspire me to begin tackling the Green chapter... where we find out what's happened to Bessal, what happens to Jahra, and what Lomiel's great plan is... and the beginning of how it will all come tumbling down over their heads.


	6. Ch 6: The Green Sister

**The Green Sister**

Yamela el'Ferrin didn't like seeing her sisters of the Green dead, and she didn't like Aes Sedai infighting. To bicker and plot was good sport, but this was out of hand. Servants should not end as innocent victims, remnant Warders should not run howling through bloodstained hallways, and parts of the Tower should not be set aflame. _Aflame_!

She wasn't much afraid, for the Light had blessed her with scant regard for her own safety. There were, however, people she worried for.

"You know what Jahra means to me," she said to Anthared. He paced at her shoulder, his sword out, balanced on the fine edge between alert and jumpy. This close, the bond told her even how his skin prickled. It also told her he did _not_ like what she was telling him. "Now bring her back here where I can keep an eye on her."

"Why _me_? Why not one of the twins?"

"Because _you've_ taught them _manners_." Yamela tried to ignore the fear that leaked through his bond. "If I sent one of them, Jahra could wave him aside and he'd accept it. But if I send _you_, she'll take you seriously, and if she doesn't, you'll be in enough of a hurry to return to me that you'll drag her back here by her hair, shawl and _saidar_ or no."

Anthared's fear bubbled towards a panic. He did not like leaving her. Not at all. And to do it _today_…

She tried to reassure him with a hand on his arm. It didn't help. He wavered like a tree when the woodsman's axe worked its way into its stem, merciless stroke by merciless stroke.

"Yamela… Yamela Sedai…" he began, as if he meant to plead for his life.

She gave him her best stern look and he closed his mouth. Anthared was like a sly old hound; he knew his job too well to always agree with her; but he would never disobey her. So he closed his mouth, but his eyes pleaded where words did not, and his bond almost made Yamela relent – but one must never relent. Not to one's Warders. It was too easy for a man who knew your emotions to play them like a bard did a harp. _Project firmness_, she told herself. _Project calm_. "I'll be fine, Anthared. I have the twins." The twins who, he himself claimed, needed to take more responsibility for her safety, instead of relying on his presence.

An instant passed. He made up his mind. "Durrak!"

The odds were always even as to which twin would come when Anthared called, but this time, Durrak himself answered to his name. He came to meet them at a quick jog.

"Stay with her," Anthared commanded. Then off he ran, quick as if to outrun his own terror.

His bond radiated that same terror strong enough to make Yamela feel physically ill. She had to stop herself from keeling over and gagging. Light, how she _hated_ sending him off. But in the long run it'd be better if he learned that leaving her side wasn't losing her. He'd been her Warder for close on eight years now, and it was high time… and high time for her to learn to do without him.

It was a waste to keep so capable a Warder so close. She could trust tasks to him that the twins just weren't ready for. _If_ she could make him leave her.

Yamela believed that the best cure for fear was to face it, but she had only lately grown the stomach to apply that cure to Anthared. She had begun to make him 'practice'. Once a day, she had decided, but it was too early to say if it helped. Two weeks ago, making him go to the Warder mess hall without her had left him a nervous wreck for hours.

The twins both knew of Anthared's fears – she tolerated no secrets between her Warders – and when Anthared ran off, Durrak stared after him.

Yamela poked his arm. "If you let me get scratched, Durrak, he's likely to feed you your own liver."

Durrak sobered and tightened his grip on his sword. "Have you seen Masrogen?"

"Masrogen?"

"The Grey's Warder. His name is Masrogen. He stopped to watch a corridor and he hasn't come back front."

Yamela berated herself. She'd spent the last few minutes arguing with Anthared. She should have kept an eye on this Masrogen, and on Bessal too! Of course she had Erenwile and her Warders running rear guard, but that didn't mean nothing could have happened…

Looking back down the corridor showed her nothing. They must be beyond the turn. Burn it, what could have happened to make Erenwile and Bessal and their collected Warders disappear as if into thin air? Velde would have her _hide_.

"Run and halt Vaston –" she began to instruct Durrak.

"Are you _joking_, Yam? I'm in no mood for fried liver. I'm sticking to you like a blister to your heel." He set two fingers in his mouth and whistled to summon his twin, then jerked his head in the direction they had come from – the direction of Bessal and Masrogen – and Vaston loped right past them, needing no further instruction.

Yamela and Durrak followed more slowly. It was Durrak who insisted that they keep back, and Yamela felt her eyebrows rise. Anthared had long tried to teach the twins such caution, but it had never seemed to catch. She'd have to tell him later. He'd be pleased.

Moments later, Vaston's bond told Yamela that there was trouble. She picked up the pace and Durrak followed.

They found two Aes Sedai, a tiny Yellow and a Green, but the only Warder in sight was Vaston. He had been trussed up in Air on the floor before the two. His face was turned from her, so all Yamela saw was how his shoulders strained as he tried to free himself.

Yamela halted. There must be some sort of mistake. They must have thought Vaston to be one of the rabid Warders. She met their raised, cool gazes with a firm cool of her own. She didn't know the Yellow, who was the weaker by a narrow margin, but the Green was Daleene, a red-hair of medium rank. Yamela addressed her first: "Daleene, let my Warder go. He's not maddened."

She halted Durrak from springing past her to his brother's aid, with a snap of; "Durrak, _down_!" Durrak thumped down on one knee, hands to the floor and head lowered. Yamela rested her fingertips on his cream-coloured curls to soothe him.

The Yellow grinned. "Oh, look, Daleene. She has them _housebroken_."

Durrak wanted to explode. Yamela drew on the Power – deeper than Daleene or that Yellow could – and wove thunder into her voice. "Let my Warder go, Daleene. I will _not_ tell you again."

"It's not personal," Daleene told Yamela with a gleam in her eyes. "It was the Grey we were after. But we can't have witnesses."

To Yamela's shock, one of the flows around Vaston twisted, hardened, and bored into his chest. Vaston's bond writhed in pain, settled as he swallowed it, and became a glowing ember of fury in the back of her mind. He never gave a sound – but beside her, Durrak let out what could only have been a snarl. His bond was like a nest of coiled vipers, all furiously hissing and quivering. As soon as her hand left his head he would spring.

Spring, and be as caught as Vaston. Yamela cramped her fingers closed in his curls, and lashed out with flows of Air and Fire and Water. Shock had left her quickly, and to save her Warder, she _could_ –

But, burn it, _why_? Why would they –?

She let the Water drain from her weaves as they went, to cloak the corridor in mist, and split the flows. One to cut her Warder free, and the other to Shield Daleene.

The glow intensified around Daleene and the Yellow as they linked and swept Yamela's weaves aside. A Shield slammed against her, and even drawing that much of the Power it was all she could do to hold on to _saidar_. She rocked back as if from a physical blow. Durrak came free and charged with a roar.

Clinging grimly to the Source, ready to fend off more Shields, Yamela drew her sword. The Aes Sedai had wrapped up Durrak in Air. He kicked and yelled and their attention was on him, letting Yamela move unnoticed through the mists. Three long running strides, then a leap over Vaston. His bond was a well of agony in her head; the weaves had released him, but if she didn't win this fight and Heal him, he would die.

_He would die_. The thought rang through her head like a doom bell, and she knew that she had to be quick. That was okay. She _was_ quick. Her sword came up in Hawk Riding The Gale, and she bore down on Daleene –

Daleene gave a shriek of surprise but reacted quickly. A crackle of lightening flew from her hands. Yamela caught it with a hasty weave of Spirit, which she draped like a net from the sword's blade. She swept the weapon in a circle, then stabbed it towards Lotha, sending the trapped lightening like a bolt from the point of the blade. She refused to stagger when another Shield hit her; she was too angry, and somehow it was easier to hold on to the Power this time. Daleene and Lotha scampered backward when she advanced with her sword in one hand and a tongue of flame whipping from the other. Daleene tried something that made green sparks shoot towards Yamela, but she simply evaded it with Dance Of The Heron. She circled the blade up in Swallow Riding The Storm, letting another weave of Spirit infuse the weapon to allow it to cut through a series of Water and Air and Spirit knots that looked like little floating blacknesses, but instead of simply unravelling they burst with explosions of cold. Ice tore into her face and eyes and for a moment she was blind –

Then a fire surged. It swallowed the two Aes Sedai whole and then the heat hit Yamela, intense, like a wall that tossed her clear off her feet. She landed with a thump on her backside and still the heat burned her. She tried to backpedal away, but her heels only caught on her skirts. A hand gripped her firmly by the arm and dragged her back – Durrak. Agony stabbed through Vaston's bond as he too was yanked clear.

As soon as they were out of the heat Yamela shook Durrak off, and set both hands to Vaston. She wove the Healing weaves and he convulsed on the floor – the bond swelled for a moment before it settled. Still on edge, Yamela looked around and sharpened her senses. But now there was no one hostile in sight, no one was channelling, and… and Anthared was near. At once she felt much better, much safer.

She pulled Vaston onto her lap and leaned over him, closing her eyes, thanking the Light that he was alright. He was _saved_. Durrak squeezed her shoulder. Yamela took his hand. They were lucky that they hadn't all been burned to crisp.

She looked up to see Anthared leap through the remaining flames. "How's Vaston?"

"I Healed him," Yamela said, trying to reassume Aes Sedai serenity. It seemed to have deserted her somewhere between that first Shield and the fire. Her sword was gone too, she realised with a pang. "He'll be fine. Who made the fire?"

"Jahra Sedai."

"_Jahra_?"

"It seems Jahra Sedai has learned. But you were right to send someone for her. Jored and I found her outside the library. In this mess, she was taking time to _read_." Oddly enough, Anthared wasn't the nervous wreck he'd been the last time he'd returned to her; all she felt through his bond was just focused deliberateness. His work absorbed him, and Yamela was glad. He muttered and gave her a disapproving stare when he found her sword lying soot-black on the floor, several paces away. He always said a sword was no use if it wasn't within arm's reach. He picked it up and returned it to her. She cleaned the blade as best she could with her skirt before she sheathed it.

Anthared knelt by Vaston's side. "Can you stand, lad?"

"I can," muttered Vaston.

So Anthared hoisted him to his feet. "How fit is he, Yamela?"

"Better now than after your last drill session," Yamela told him. She left her Warders to Anthared's directive and turned her attention to the fire. Weaves of Water were gradually smothering the blaze, and left behind hissing steam and small white and black flakes of ash which twirled through the air. Yamela added her own weaves of Water.

Jahra strolled through as the flames receded, and from her expression the corridor might as well have been empty. Jahra had always been strong with Fire, but had never practiced much, and her _control_ left some to be desired. This time the sheer amount of flame must have surprised her, for she'd apparently ended up too close to the blast herself. The burnt fringes of her dress were still aglow, and the garment bared far more skin than customary. A Domani would have blushed.

Jahra appeared not to notice, unaware of even the burns on her skin. She looked around as if studying a new set of parlour chairs, and as if speculating on which colour she preferred for their cushions, said; "Was that all of them?" Calm as you please, with black and blood mingled over her face.

Yamela glanced over her shoulder – Anthared and the twins had politely turned their backs to the now scantly clad Brown.

Jored hurried to catch up with his Aes Sedai. He unclasped his cloak, hung it about Jahra's shoulders, then guided her hands until she had pulled it closed about her.

Yamela made her way past the remaining small fires, and raised her hands before her friend's face. "May I?

"What?" murmured Jahra. "Yes, go ahead. You mustn't ask, you know."

Yamela set careful fingertips to her scalp and Healed the burns, then spontaneously hugged her. "You don't know how glad I am to see you, sister."

Jahra was not very fond of hugs, and promptly extracted herself from the embrace. "We have work to do. These Aes Sedai were likely of the Black Ajah. That was how they could use the Power as a weapon."

Yamela blinked. Trust Jahra to be so blunt! She tried to gather her thoughts, while beside her, Anthared radiated disapproval. If it was disapproval at Jahra for spreading fancy tales – it would not be like Jahra to spread fancy tales – or at the dead Aes Sedai for presumably being Black, Yamela couldn't be certain. "So… there _is_ a Black Ajah?"

Anthared's bond gave a twinge of further disapproval.

"Yes. And they're the reason why the Tower is in such an uproar."

Anthared scowled openly, but Yamela trusted Jahra. Trusted her absolutely. Even in this. So the question was, what to do about it? She gathered herself, and instinctively drew strength from her three Warders. With them there, she could have faced even the Forsaken.

And she'd keep Jahra out of trouble while she was at it. "Very well. _Explain_."

Jahra explained while on the move, because Anthared pointed out that he had found Bessal… lying wounded further down the corridor.

Yamela understood that Anthared had prioritized reaching her over helping Bessal, but she was still cross with him for not telling her sooner. Bessal's blond hair was mingled with blood and from the trail of red along the floor it looked like someone had moved her, and then given the project up and left her, likely thinking her dead. She certainly looked dead, whiter than usual and very still.

And there was no sign of Erenwile or her Warders. They were simply gone. Well, one thing at the time, Yamela reminded herself. First, she would help Bessal.

Jahra had no skill whatsoever with Healing and stood back, while Yamela sat herself down on her knees beside the Grey. Leaning close to her face revealed that she still breathed, but delving her didn't offer Yamela much hope.

"A head wound," she muttered disgustedly. "It _had_ to be a _head_ wound! Couldn't she have been decently _stabbed_ or something instead?"

"Can you Heal it?" Anthared asked her.

"I can never tell with head wounds. Perhaps. Perhaps I should fetch a Yellow."

"If it's that bad, will she last until we can find a Yellow?" Jahra wondered. "The Yellows, I heard, have shut themselves into their quarters. Dare we move her?"

"Burn it, I don't know."

"And if you do nothing, she will surely die," Anthared added, then wistfully; "That's what Vaserre always said."

At the mention of his former Aes Sedai, Anthared's bond seemed to plummet, as if the ground had opened up beneath him. As always, Yamela felt as if her own feet were being tugged out from beneath her and she would fall with him – but she didn't have time for it. She sent him a glare which told him to get a grip on himself, then drew a steadying breath, and did her best to Heal the Grey.

A rasp came from low in Bessal's throat; her face scrunched up and she moved, rolling heavily onto her side. After a moment Yamela put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you awake?" she asked, hoping Bessal would reply as she should. You never knew with head wounds.

"Hhmm..? _Light_," Bessal replied groggily. "That… hurts."

Yamela frowned. Bessal had been Healed; nothing should _hurt_.

Then Bessal's eyes snapped open and she sat up so fast she almost knocked her forehead against Yamela's. "That hurts. Oh, Light, that's my _Warder_."

"Your Warder? Is he dead? How do you feel?"

"I'm… fine," Bessal said after a moment, beginning to climb to her feet – Anthared courteously assisted her, and she took the offered help without thought or comment or even thanks, as if she was so used to such aid that she didn't notice it. "My Warder's alive. But someone's hurting him."

Yamela and Anthared exchanged a look.

"Bessal, do you know what happened to Erenwile?"

"She's not around, is she?" Bessal thought for a moment – then her face twisted. "It must have been Erenwile who tapped me on the head. We were talking, she was asking questions about a friend of mine, and…" Her face drained of colour. "Light, _Masrogen_. He'd never have left me. She must have taken him." She looked at Yamela, her eyes wide.

"We should bring Bessal Sedai to the Grey quarters with all speed," Anthared reminded. "We have no time for errands. Masrogen _Gaidin_ can take care of himself."

Yamela glanced at Bessal, who at Anthared's comment had begun to study the old man, much like a stoneworker studies a slab of stone to find the easiest way to crack it. Her face was smooth, but Yamela didn't need any visible emotion cues to understand what was running through her mind. Yamela knew what she herself would have felt. She faced the Grey. "I said I would bring you to the Grey quarters in one piece. But you would hardly be in one piece without your Warder, now would you?"

Bessal smiled. It was a strained smile.

"Show us where he is."

* * *

Jahra had taken out a book, so to avoid her straying off, Yamela had a firm grip on her shoulder. To take the book from her would cause more of a fuss than leading her.

Jored ran point, with Durrak halfway between him and the three Aes Sedai. Anthared had reassumed his place at Yamela's shoulder and Vaston trailed a pair of steps behind them. None of the Warders were permitted out of sight.

"I think they're trying to make him talk," Bessal said with a frown, her hand touching her head lightly. The gesture, from an Aes Sedai, was about the equivalent of a regular woman rubbing her temples furiously to ease a headache.

"Make Masrogen _talk_?" began Vaston with a grin.

"We wish them the best of luck," Durrak added, glancing back at them and grinning as broadly as his brother.

"What's so funny?" Yamela snapped at them.

"Well, if someone wants to know as much as Masrogen's _name_ –"

"– they'll be in for a long wait."

"Masrogen doesn't talk much," Bessal explained tersely.

"Masrogen doesn't _talk_ much –"

"– like a fish doesn't _fly_ much," the twins added.

At Yamela's shoulder Anthared growled something about making them run more laps around the Tower.

"No," disagreed Yamela. "They enjoy running all too much."

"I could make them volunteer in the kitchens instead," Anthared muttered. "A few days doing dishes…"

From the twins came a half-choked sound, and their pleading eyes turned to Yamela.

"No, Anthared," Yamela decided. "You're to _train_ them. Not _torture_ them. And it wouldn't do any good. Trust me. I must have spent _years_ in the kitchens, and I never learned a thing."

Anthared actually smiled. "Understood, my Aes Sedai."

Bessal led them down through the Tower, and then further down. At Anthared's behest, they kept away from the main staircases and used the hidden servants' paths. Before long they had descended past the Tower's ground floor and were heading into the deeps. Bessal, a pale woman to begin with, was beginning to look ghastly, and the dark combined with their three glowing balls of white light did nothing to better her complexion.

Jahra had tucked her book into her belt pouch, and strolled at Yamela's side. She still wore Jored's colour-shifting cloak pulled closed about herself, the hem dragging around her feet, and aside from her face and the ball of white light that floated above her head she was almost invisible. "You never explained where you found Bessal," she said blandly to Yamela. Bessal was a few steps ahead, conversing with Jored.

"There was some disquiet in the Green quarters," Yamela began.

"Three Aes Sedai were killed," Anthared corrected. "That is more than 'some disquiet'. And there had been attempts to place the blame on the Blues, and the Greys. You can imagine what a frenzy that got the Greens into."

"I see," said Jahra, and nodded quietly. "And Bessal?"

Yamela shrugged. "Velde wanted someone to escort Bessal safely back to the Grey quarters."

"And she asked _you_?" Jahra wondered blandly. "Ah. It's because you're rather strong in the Power –" Yamela gritted her teeth; trust Jahra to speak of _that_. "– and because you have three Warders. Not many enough to constitute a serious threat, but not few enough to be taken lightly."

"Hasn't the thought occurred to you that she might _trust_ me?" Yamela said.

"Must I remind you to keep your _temper_?" piped Durrak from ahead in a strict high-pitched voice, in apparent imitation of Velde.

"Must I remind you of _turnips_?" added Vaston in the same voice, from just behind them.

"The Black Hills?"

"Ten years of manual labour?"

"No, Sitter," finished both twins together, now at a meek chirp. "That's understood."

"Ah," said Jahra, and nodded knowingly.

Yamela flashed her brightest smile at her twin Warders. "Do you two want to _live_?"

"Only at your pleasure, Aes Sedai," sang Vaston, and bowed.

"If it be your will, Aes Sedai," aired Durrak, and bowed.

"If the two of you don't start behaving soon," growled Anthared, "I'll have you running up and down these stairs until you drop, and then I'll _kick_ you an extra trip up for good measure, and if that –"

"Let them be, Anthared." Yamela set a hand to his shoulder.

He offered a submissive nod. His bond was everything but submissive; she supposed the twins would be running those stairs as soon as she turned her back.

* * *

"_Oh_," Jahra said, quite sharply, and dug her fingers into Yamela's arm.

Yamela blinked, and halted. Just within sight ahead of them, Bessal's glowing ball of light had winked out and she and Jored had stopped. They eased ahead to join them, while Vaston kept behind as rear guard.

Yamela felt Jahra channel a wisp of the Power, and realised that her friend was using her trick to let herself and her Warder see in the dark.

"There's a big chamber ahead," Jahra said, and though she didn't whisper she had the sense to lower her voice.

Jored continued for her. "There were four Aes Sedai in the far end. They must have figured someone was here, for they've gone very still, and they've let out their lights."

"Warders?" asked Anthared.

"Two. Three men, but one was in Tower guard uniform."

"Anyone we know?"

"Someone over there is very strong," remarked Bessal quietly.

"I thought I saw Sarnon," said Jored. "He teaches, sometimes, and I thought I recognized the way he moved."

"Don't think, boy; _know_," Anthared hissed.

Jored grimaced. Yamela nudged her eldest Warder. His correcting the twins was all well and good, but Jored was Jahra's Warder, and he had no business hissing at another's Warder.

"One of them is a tall Red," Bessal said. "I think it's Watene Gamyrrin." Her voice sank beneath a whisper, to a hiss. "And Masrogen is somewhere beyond them."

Yamela jerked as Vaston's bond winked out like a quenched flame. She spun and grabbed her sword, seizing _saidar_ too and weaving a ball of white light. This she shot towards where Vaston had been, hoping to blind whoever was there.

Beside her, Jahra gave a groan and threw up her hand to protect her eyes, while Bessal, too, lit a ball of light.

There was no one down the corridor. Her sense of Vaston told her he was unconscious, but moving quickly away. Durrak had already spurted ahead, following her light. Then a snare of Air caught him by the ankles and he tumbled to the floor. Likewise, Anthared stiffened in the grasp of further flows, and Yamela swore as she was cut off from the Source; this time, there had been no fighting it. Bessal's light disappeared as the same happened to her.

"This just isn't my day," Yamela muttered.

She could feel someone impossibly strong channelling nearby, setting up what seemed to be a sound barrier around them all. Then, from the other end of the room, a clear female voice rang out; "If you want your Warder back safely, you won't make trouble."

Yamela looked behind her, out through the chamber. "If you didn't want trouble, you should have left my Warders alone," she shouted back. "As things are, I'm _pissed_."

"_'Pissed'_? You never did learn a civil tongue," remarked the same voice, and now Yamela recognized it for Talanee's. She was a competent-looking Yellow with black hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders, and Yamela knew her from the many times she had supervised the Warders' practice yard. She approached through the chamber carrying a ball of light, leading a circle of four women; herself, a Blue, a Red, and a White. An odd group, especially a day like this. And true enough, two Warders and a guardsman trailed them.

Jahra took a step forward, still half-shielding her eyes. "Is that you, Lomiel?"

The White, a smallish woman who was even paler than Bessal, both in skin and hair and dress, nodded. "Yes, Jahra." She was very weak in the Power and it showed in her manner, even through her White Ajah serenity.

The hard knot of emotion that was Anthared shifted. Only one of his feet was bound, and he moved as close to Yamela as he could, then inclined his head to whisper into her ear.

"If that's Lomiel Sedai," he said, "it means Haqon _Gaidin_ is near. Likely _he_ snatched Vaston, Light knows he could. He's the singularly most deadly man I have ever known."

That made Yamela's stomach twist.

"Looking for the Amyrlin, I presume?" Jahra said, still speaking to Lomiel, despite how Talanee's strength ought to give her precedence. "I overheard a few Blacks talking in the library –"

"You did _what_?" hissed Jored, eyes bulging.

"I suspected what they were. So I confronted one and asked her if she was Black Ajah."

"Jahra, you're the most intelligent person I know, but you're not always very _smart_," Yamela said, at the same moment that Jored blurted: "Didn't it occur to you that she might _kill_ you?"

"Oh, she did _try_. But I threw a book binding charm on her cloak that snapped it closed about her. Tied her up all neatly, even blindfolded her. It's an insistent weave, and she'll stay right where I left her." Jahra sounded somewhat smug.

"Where you _left_ her?" Lomiel cut in, remarkably sharply – with a start, Yamela realised that none of the four newcomers had as much as hissed for breath when Jahra mentioned the Blacks. Strange.

"Left her, yes. I had no wish to carry her. She was quite a bit taller –"

"Enough!" snapped Talanee, exasperated. "Lomiel, you seem to know her. Will you vouch for this Brown?"

Lomiel considered Jahra. "She is nosy, but I doubt she is Black."

"_Nosy_? She wouldn't be the first," said Talanee briskly, without looking at the little White. "And you, Yamela. What are you doing down here?"

"That would be my fault," Bessal cut in smoothly. "Watene, there, knows me. I am Bessal, of the Grey, and I have served as lord Pergal's advisor for many years. He has lands north of Cairhien. Yamela was to escort me from the Green quarters – I had visited Sitter Velde on a personal matter – but along the way –"

Yamela wasn't in the mood to listen to some Grey making a diplomatic mess of a simple situation. "Erenwile was supposed to help us, but she turned on us and hit Bessal on the head and ran off. Must have thought she'd killed her, and it was a near thing, but I managed to Heal her. Erenwile's taken Bessal's Warder, though, so we're down here to find him. Oh, and Daleene and Lotha tried to butcher my Warder, and myself, so Jahra burned them to crisp. She figures they were Black Ajah, and I figure she's right. Questions?"

Talanee frowned at her as if she was a child who had spoken out of turn. Yamela frowned right back. Jahra sighed.

But the little White murmured to herself; "Erenwile? Lotha? _Yes_." Her emphasis hinted at secrets. Both the Blue and the Yellow shifted at her words.

Yamela looked to the Blue, who hadn't yet spoken. She wore a calm near as impenetrable as Lomiel's, but her Warder hovered protectively over her, which betrayed her schooled nonchalance for the ruse it was.

"_Please_," Bessal said then. Her own schooled countenance broke for a moment as she looked pleadingly from one to the other. "They're hurting him. He's not – not far. I need to go to him."

Talanee considered for a moment.

"We'll need all the help we can get," the Blue said. "If we're really –"

The Red nodded vigorously. "Yes, we need the help. You can't really think, Talanee, that –"

Talanee shot the Red a stare that would have stopped a king and his army in their tracks. The Red's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth.

Lomiel, however, spoke softly. "Evain and Watene do have a point, Talanee."

"Can you vouch for them all?" snapped Talanee.

Lomiel's ice blue eyes glittered. "I can't even vouch for _you_."

Talanee sighed, and with that, all the weaves unravelled. "We'll help you find this Warder, if you're willing to help us in turn." She looked to Jahra. That was only natural, Yamela supposed; Jahra was stronger than her and Bessal both.

Jahra nodded. "Against the Blacks? Certainly. Though Yamela will be more help to you than I, I think. There are Half-men involved, is that not so?"

The Warders gave a collective jerk, but they all already had their swords out and were already as jumpy as Warders ever were. Talanee and Lomiel didn't move, but the Blue grimaced, and the Red downright flinched. The guardsman who stood beside her – from the resemblance, Yamela deduced he must be some sort of relative – turned wild-eyed.

Anthared was so close to Yamela now that he brushed against her shoulder. "I thought something stank," he muttered. "Forgive me, Yamela Sedai. I didn't realise what it was. _Something_ stank, but this entire situation stinks, doesn't it? I should have…"

At that moment, the man who had to be Haqon reappeared from further down the corridor, a limp Vaston hoisted easily over his shoulder. Talanee examined him and woke him up, and with that and her sharp commands, they continued. Talanee insisted that Jahra, Bessal, and Yamela go first, which they did, with their Warders clustered about them. Vaston looked sheepish, but Yamela took his arm and made it perfectly clear that she didn't blame him. If Anthared said that Haqon was 'that good', then he was.

Anthared whispered in her ear as they walked. "I will keep an eye on Haqon. As for _you_, don't let Lomiel Sedai catch you alone."

"Alone?" Yamela sniffed. "I'll be busy dragging Jahra around by the ear. I won't be alone. Not to mention _you_ –"

Anthared spoke on hurriedly. "Lomiel Sedai looks at the rest of us like a butcher eyeing someone else's cattle. Haqon looks at the rest of us like a dog does a fox, just waiting for the leash to leave his neck. Both are _too confident_." He lowered his voice further. "The two of them have _killed_ Aes Sedai, and Warders too. With _intent_. I can smell it."

Yamela tried not to let her shock show on her face. Despite the riots in the Tower, such an idea – when uttered aloud – sounded impossible at best. She would sooner have believed a Red bonding man who could channel for a Warder. But as she glanced with new eyes at Lomiel and Haqon – he leaned towards her, alertly receiving instructions without ever taking his eyes off the rest of the group – she saw what Anthared meant. It was laughable – Lomiel was weak in the Power, and her manners were those of a mouse who knew itself among cats. But for a mouse among cats, her eyes were very sharp.

As for Haqon, there was nothing about him which belied Anthared's claim. He would take a life without blinking, and he was good at it.

"Let's deal with the Half-men first, if there are any," Yamela muttered. "Shouldn't be a problem, with the seven of –"

Bessal suddenly hitched her skirts and broke into a run. But she had only taken a few steps when Lomiel appeared like a wraith beside her and snatched hold of her arm to halt her. Lomiel's Warder, Haqon, sped past on silent feet. "Keep back, all of you," Lomiel whispered, gesturing to stop Jored and Jahra from following the Warder.

"Masrogen is just –" Bessal began.

"_Wait_," hissed Lomiel. "If they see us, they might well kill your Warder and run. But they won't _see _Haqon."

"Listen to her," Talanee urged, with command in her quiet voice. "We should let her Warder work."

Bessal bit her lip but obeyed. Yamela pitied her. She knew the Grey must have felt sick with worry. She took Bessal's arm and squeezed it in a half-hug, and they waited in silence.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Sorry for the long wait. The last... year... has been pretty intense, and having a bit of a writer's cramp on this story didn't help. Anyhow, it's up now. I won't make any promises for the next chapter, but I'll tell you it's half done, so there is hope. It's going to be another Dahlan chapter, since I suddenly realised I had too much plot and too few Aes Sedai to dole out chapters between... even if I throw in the compulsory Black chapter further ahead.

Hope you enjoyed this one! Please offer some criticism or praise, as you see fit. That would make me a happy writer.


	7. Ch 7: Warder of the Red Sister II

**Warder of the Red Sister II**

They waited in silence for Haqon to return, their small company lit by the dim glow above the Aes Sedais' outstretched hands. From ahead, there came a single, cut-short cry, and what might have been a thud, but none of the Aes Sedai acknowledged the sound. Peering at Lomiel Sedai, whom Haqon belonged to, let Dahlan deduce that nothing bad had happened to the Warder. That, or Lomiel was very good at masking it.

Dahlan hadn't been that nervous since… well, he couldn't remember when last he'd been that nervous. When they'd brought him down here for Gentling, perhaps. He'd been terrified then. But that had been a terror visible around him, and easier to deal with. This crawling through the dark bowels of the Tower, with Watene to protect and little idea of what he actually needed to protect her from… it was tearing his nerves ragged.

"So… you're the Red's brother, are you?" came the companionable question from one of the Green's twins. It wasn't spoken loudly, but Dahlan suspected that the Aes Sedai would have preferred silence. He gave the twin a suspicious look. His experience with Greens was limited to keeping them from thinking he had just agreed to be bonded. His experience with Green Warders was that they always took their Green's side.

"Yes," he replied.

The other twin spoke on his other side. "And what are you doing here… play-acting her Warder? Reds don't take Warders, you know."

Dahlan shrugged, trying to make it look casual. "So I've been told. But Reds still get hurt, and if I can keep my sister in one piece, I will."

The twins smiled wolfishly at one-another, just past his face.

"Congratulations, lad," one of them whispered grandly – Dahlan couldn't have told them apart if his life depended on it – and flung a companionable arm about his shoulder. He resisted an urge to shrug out of it. "You've just enlisted for the easiest job in the world."

"Or the hardest," amended the other.

"Depending on how you look at it."

"But at least it's easy to tell if you're doing a good job…"

"For the mark of a great Warder –"

"– is that beside him –"

"– comes a _live_ Aes Sedai."

"But I'm not a Warder," Dahlan muttered.

"_Live_ being the key word," the twins went on in unison, ignoring him.

"In front of every great Aes Sedai, there's a Warder who knows his business!"

"_Behind_ every great Aes Sedai, there's a Warder who knows his _manners_," Talanee Sedai's hiss cut through their tirade.

"_Behind_ every great Aes Sedai, there's a Warder heaving a great sigh of relief –" corrected one of the twins.

"– and trying to catch his breath," finished the other.

"Yamela. I would very much appreciate if you shortened the leashes on your _Gaidin_."

The pretty young Green crossed her arms over her chest. "They're _my_ _Gaidin_. The length of their _leashes_ is none of your business."

"_Do not_ address me in such a tone, _child_," Talanee warned frostily. "Keep those _menaces_ of yours quiet, or I'll gag them and you alike, just see if I _don't_."

The Green bristled with anger, but with a glance at the Brown, she took a hold of her temper and instead of exploding gave a curt nod of agreement. By then, her silver-haired old Warder had taken hold of the twins' collars in his two hands and led them aside for what surely had to be a scolding.

"Just ignore them, Dahlan," Watene told him softly, with a glare at the Green. "Greens never had much sense, and their Warders are worse."

Dahlan had actually been glad to be distracted from his worries for a moment, but now he settled back into worrying. Watene, too, was nervous. He could tell from the bond in his head. She wouldn't want him to point it out, however, so he said nothing. He just moved very close to her, his shoulder touching hers for what comfort his presence might offer her. As if she knew what he was up to she smiled at him.

It was a small thing, that smile, but it made all the difference; he felt warm inside, suddenly stronger, more confident. Alone he wanted never to see this place again, but for Watene, he could have gone anywhere.

Finally, Lomiel Sedai nodded to Talanee Sedai. The two of them led the way – Lomiel Sedai still with a firm restraining grip on that Grey, Bessal Sedai. The others followed, the Warders in a swarm around them all, while Dahlan kept close to his sister.

Lomiel Sedai allowed her glowing light to increase in brightness as they entered a large, circular chamber. Pillars lined the sides and the floor was decorated with lines that formed a large, even-shaped star, or perhaps several such stars interposed upon one another. The outer star had thirteen points, and the inner had thirteen again. In the centre was a circle.

Dahlan stopped cold in the doorway. Watene caught his arm, hastily whispering into his ear: "It's okay, Dahlan. They can't very well Gentle you again, now can they?"

"Get a move on," grumped the Blue's Warder, Contair, from behind, trying to make way for himself and his Aes Sedai.

Watene led Dahlan two steps into the chamber, still hanging to his arm. Dahlan trembled. He couldn't take his eyes off that circle in the centre of the room. That was where he had been, chained and frightened, and at the thirteen points of the innermost star there had been thirteen Red sisters. Just thinking about it brought back the goosebumps on his skin, and that pain, of a sort he hadn't been able to identify.

"It's alright, Dahlan," Watene told him again, one arm about his waist. "I'm here. No one will hurt you. Not this time."

Dahlan drew a deep breath. No, this wouldn't do. She was right; he was a Gentled man, and they couldn't very well Gentle him again, now could they? He was a grown man, not a frightened boy, and a bonded Warder. He couldn't stand there like a quaking coward when there might be danger about. Releasing the breath, he settled himself. He still trembled, but he made himself look around.

The room still made him want to retch. There was something in the air that curled his toes and made the hairs on his arms stand, and put the taste of curdled milk in the back of his mouth. Pressure built on his chest until breathing in grew difficult, and his heart rate quickened.

"I know," Watene whispered, still pressed against his side. "I feel it, too. There's something very wrong here. And the Power's been used. A lot of it. There are still flows crisscrossing everything, and they _hum_, as if some spark could trigger it again at any moment."

At the far wall of the chamber, the Grey knelt beside a large, man-shaped form. The White inspected three other shapes, crumbled nearby. Her Warder gave her only a moment before requesting her attention again. He pointed towards the wall, just where it was touched by one of the points of the larger star. That was between two pillars, and the space was veiled in a shadow that the Aes Sedais' glowing lights didn't seem to penetrate.

But now Lomiel Sedai sent her ball of light right into that darkness, and it lit up the frozen face of a Myrddraal.

"_Fade_! Dahlan, get behind me!" hissed Watene, raising a hand with a ball of flame ready to throw.

_Behind_ her? He drew his sword instead. "Not while I _live_."

"You little fool – !" She seized his arm as if to drag him there, but physically, he was the stronger, and he resisted her. "This isn't the time to argue," she warned in his ear.

"Then don't argue, sister."

"_Dahlan_!"

"Will you two _stop_?" growled Sarnon from his place at Talanee Sedai's side. "Take another look before you lose your heads. It's _not moving_."

Talanee made a whirling gesture with her hand, and twelve small glowing lights appeared, and spread out across the room, one into each dark alcove at the tips of the bigger star. Each revealed a frozen Myrddraal, and none of them moved. None of them reacted to the light, not even when it came close enough to singe their noses.

"There you have your Half-men, Lomiel," Talanee Sedai said softly. "But I was under the impression that they would be _moving_, and we would be facing some of the Black Ajah along with them."

"So was I," Lomiel Sedai murmured. She and Bessal Sedai and their Warders had rejoined the group. Bessal Sedai looked queasy, as much as Aes Sedai ever looked queasy, and she kept her hand tightly curled about a fold of her Warder's doublet as if to make certain he wasn't about to disappear again.

"And what of the Amyrlin?" Evain Sedai asked.

"We may be too early, or we may be too late."

"Too late for what?" snapped the Green.

Lomiel Sedai gave her a bland look, her White Ajah serenity as impenetrable as ever.

"Too late for _what_?" repeated Yamela Sedai sharply.

"The Blacks took the Amyrlin for one of two reasons," the little Brown – Jahra Sedai – said from her place beside the Green. "In order to kill her, or in order to turn her. Killing her they could have done in her quarters. Turning her, now… that's another matter altogether. Isn't it, Lomiel?"

Lomiel's serene eyes studied Jahra. Her face remained impassive, but Dahlan couldn't shake the feeling that she was considering if, and _how_, to twist the Brown's neck. "Yes. Another matter entirely."

"The Amyrlin isn't here, in any case," Bessal Sedai concluded. "But this…" She gestured around them, as if indicating something in the air that Dahlan couldn't see, "can't be the making of anything in the Light. Does anyone have any clue as to what it is?"

Talanee Sedai tapped her chin with a forefinger as she studied the nearest Myrddraal. "Evain. You're from the Borderlands. Any idea why they're not moving?"

"No, Talanee," Evain replied. "Lomiel?"

"I have never seen anything like it," Lomiel said.

"What of those three?" Talanee wondered, nodding towards the three shapes left on the floor on the other side of the room.

"Erenwile Sedai and one of her Warders are dead. The other Warder is dying, and won't be troubling us," Lomiel said. "I would have had Haqon finish him, but we may still want to question him. He'll be alive for another half hour or so before he bleeds dry. If we decide that we need him, we can Heal him before then."

Despite himself, Dahlan was taken aback by her cool voice. Whites were supposed to be dispassionate, but _this_? The woman made icicles look emotional!

"Jahra!" exclaimed the Green suddenly. "Step _away_ from the Myrddraal!"

The Brown, almost completely hidden by the colour-shifting cloak she must have borrowed from her Warder, had left the group and approached one of the Myrddraal. She waved a dismissing hand back at them. "Just a moment…" she murmured, her eyes fixated on the frozen form. She reached one hand towards it, out of the cloak's folds. "Fascinating –"

"Durrak, stop her!" the Green barked.

One of the twins began to move, but the Brown's Warder – Dahlan knew his name was Jored – flowed in between the other Warder and Jahra Sedai, delivering a glare which halted Durrak as if he had been slapped. Jored then seized Jahra Sedai's shoulder, and pulled her out of touching distance from the Fade, stepping in between her and the creature as an extra precaution.

"Let me go, Jored," Jahra muttered, and twisted to free herself – but her Warder held on.

"No," he said, and glanced uneasily at the Fade, now behind him.

"The thing is frozen. It's unlikely to begin –"

"It's a _Myrddraal_," Jored reasoned.

"I know that perfectly well, thank you. I intend to _delve_ it, see what it's made of. Do you realise what an opportunity this is? What I might learn?" Her voice was dreamy, and from the tilt of her head, her eyes had yet to leave that frozen eyeless gaze.

Jored lifted the tiny Aes Sedai into the air, and took several steps further away before he set her down, still with himself between her and the Myrddraal. He tightened his fingers on her arms until she looked at him instead. "Jahra, it's a _Myrddraal_."

Jahra clenched her hands. "Jored _Gaidin_, you _will_ allow me –"

"Oh, for the _Light_!" snarled Lomiel Sedai quietly, shot a hand out, and enveloped the Myrddraal in fire. Not even then did it twitch.

"_Why_ did you do that, Lomiel?" Jahra Sedai hissed, facing the White and jerking free of her Warder's protective embrace. "You knew I wanted to –"

Lomiel Sedai bobbed a hasty curtsey, her white skirts neatly spread and her face down. "Forgive me, Jahra, it's just – I – I thought it might _twitch_. I feared it might break free, I did, forgive me."

Jahra blinked, while the Blue's eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets.

Dahlan frowned. He couldn't quite decide where the White belonged in the Aes Sedai pecking order. Sometimes she was clearly leading, and at other times she was just as clearly clinging to the bottom rungs.

Talanee Sedai huffed. Where Talanee stood was very clear: she was the one at the very top, doing most of the pecking. "No one will touch the Myrddraal," she decided, "until we figure out what's holding them, and how."

"How about we just burn them all to cinders?" suggested the Green, and a ball of flame whirled to being above her palm.

Talanee scowled. "The flows in this chamber are connected to those Myrddraal. It's changed, now, that one has been burned, but it's still there." She gave Lomiel a sharp look. "You took a risk disturbing it like that. It might have exploded in our faces."

Lomiel Sedai curtsied again, but chose not to answer.

"We need to figure out what it is."

"Suggestion, Talanee," said Lomiel softly. "Some of us try to figure this out, and in the mean time, the others pair up and scout the nearby rooms. There are six doors leaving this chamber, after all."

"I agree," the Grey said. "Yamela, shall we?"

"The sooner the better," Yamela replied, and with the Grey at her side they headed for the closest door. Their total of four Warders formed a tight circle about them, with the Grey's massive Warder in front.

"Watene?" Lomiel Sedai prompted.

Watene gave a firm nod. "I'll be of little use here," she said, and Dahlan could feel how she rallied her courage and followed the White towards another door. He went with her, of course, only glad to leave the chamber. Behind him, the three remaining Aes Sedai began a soft conversation.

"How about we link, Watene?" Lomiel suggested. "I'll lead, if you don't mind. I have the advantage of greater experience."

Watene nodded. Her bond named her only glad to agree; perhaps it felt as if she was relinquishing some of the responsibility. Watene's own ball of light faded away, while Lomiel's increased to twice its original brightness.

All they found at the end of the corridor was a storage. Small, doorless chambers on both sides, most of them full of empty shelves, the rest of them completely empty. The feeling of wrongness that had permeated the chamber with stars on the floor was gone. They returned, and tried the next corridor, only to find another, similar storage. Knowing that Yamela Sedai and Bessal Sedai had checked two other doors, and one had been the one through which they'd come, and the last the Aes Sedai all knew was a corridor leading further away and would have taken the better part of a day to search in its entirety, the task of figuring out what was beyond the doors seemed completed.

"Well, that's done with," Lomiel Sedai said crisply. "But while we're alone, Watene, I'd like you to answer a question."

Watene stiffened, turning slowly from her inspection of one of the empty little storages. "No," she snapped, drawing herself up and coming a step forwards. "We're heading straight back." For some reason, she must have believed that the other woman would meekly fold.

Only, Lomiel Sedai at this moment didn't have a meek hair on her head. Instead of backing down, she whipped her arm up and slapped Watene – hard enough to make her cry out.

Dahlan was in motion before he knew it – but Haqon barred his way. The Warder moved more lithely than a man of his age had any right to, and in an instant Dahlan had been disarmed and had his head knocked against the wall. He was still on his feet, but dazed, and Haqon had locked him with his cheek pressed to the rough stone, one of his arms twisted painfully up behind his back.

"Is he your Warder?" asked Lomiel in a whip-crack of a voice.

"He's my _brother_," protested Watene angrily, coming to her feet. "Let go of –"

"Don't try to side-talk me, girl. I was twisting truths before your grandmother left her crib. I want a _yes_, or a _no_. Is he your Warder?"

"What gives you the right –"

Quick as a snake, Lomiel slapped her again. Dahlan felt the pain of it through the bond, and all the rage that was in him flared. He made a wild attempt to break free of the White's Warder, but Haqon only followed his movements, caught him again, and folded him neatly to the floor instead. Dahlan's limbs didn't quite move as they ought to; he wondered briefly how badly his head had been hit. But with that pain in the bond, all he could think of was getting up, and helping Watene. He _tried_.

"Now, before my Haqon begins to hurt the lad. Is he your Warder?"

"You Light-forsaken old hag, he's my _little brother_ –"

"Haqon, proceed."

Haqon twisted his grip, and there came a loud snap – Dahlan groaned as pain exploded up his arm, and distantly he heard Watene shriek his name.

"Does the boy have two arms, Haqon?" asked Lomiel conversationally.

"Yes, Aes Sedai," replied her Warder. From his calm voice, you would never have believed that Dahlan was fighting for all he was worth to break his hold. Of course, by then his Aes Sedai's channelling helped him hold Dahlan down. All Dahlan could do was twitch, and he barely managed to turn his head about to look up towards Watene.

"If the Red doesn't answer satisfactorily to my next inquiry, break the other arm too."

"You Shadow-spawned, wretched old –"

Lomiel raised a hand, and stuffed a wad of what had to be _saidar_ into Watene's mouth. "One more chance," she said softly. "A yes, or a no. When you're ready to reply, just nod, and I'll remove the gag. Until then, your _silence_ will be most welcome."

Watene's eyes shot from the White, to Dahlan, and back to the White. Her expression swung between fury and fear and back again, outrage and disbelief and back again. But she finally settled for anger, and began to glower at Lomiel. As if glowering like a child denied a toy might actually _help_.

"Haqon, does the man have fingers?" Lomiel wondered.

"I believe he does, Aes Sedai."

"Excellent. Count to ten, then break one. Count to ten again, and break the next one. Continue until Watene Sedai decides to play along."

"Yes, Aes Sedai. One. Two. Three. Four – hold still, man! Five –"

Watene began to nod fervently.

"Excellent, Watene," Lomiel murmured. "Haqon, you may stop counting. Now remember, child. A yes or a no. Is he your Warder or not?" She dissolved the gag.

"Yes!" croaked a wide-eyed Watene. "Leave him be! Yes, he's my Warder."

"Thank you, child. And –"

"What _is_ this?" came the demanding voice of Talanee Sedai. "Lomiel! What in the Light's name are you _doing_? Let the boy up."

"They broke his arm!" Watene nearly cried, rushing to his side. In one move she shoved Haqon clear – Haqon _let himself be shoved clear_ – and helped Dahlan up. "They threatened –"

"Threatened? Don't we have enough trouble around here without threatening each _other_?" said the Green darkly, emerging from behind the Yellow. "Explain yourself, Lomiel."

Lomiel Sedai was unmoved. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Green."

"_Wrong_, Lomiel," said Talanee Sedai curtly. "Whatever goes on here concerns us _all_." She gestured behind her, and Dahlan saw how the entire group of Aes Sedai had joined them.

"I don't believe Watene would want me to reveal what went on here. Would you, Watene?"

Watene's face went white.

"I'm in no mood for this," declared Yamela Sedai furiously. "I believe what I see, and that boy's arm is broken. Explain yourself, White! Or are you, too, of the Black Ajah?"

Lomiel Sedai shook her head quietly. When Yamela made to advance on her, Haqon coolly placed himself between them and reached to the hilt of his blade. Just reached, but in an explosion of movement Yamela was pulled back by that silver-haired old Warder, and her twins shouldered their way in front of her, their swords out. In a flash, all the Warders had swept in front of his respective Aes Sedai, his sword out and facing Haqon. None of them – except maybe the Grey's expressionless giant – stood easy, but all of them faced the White's Warder.

The Blue – Evain Sedai – reached to snatch hold of her Warder's left wrist and hold him back, and Dahlan tried without much success to shake off his sister, who attempted to shove _him_ behind _her_. He was glad it was his left arm Haqon had broken; his right was still free to hold his sword. The left arm throbbed with dull pain, his ears were full of a rushing sound, and he still wasn't too steady on his feet, but it was all bearable.

Talanee Sedai raised her voice. "Really, Lomiel, this isn't necessary… Sarnon, do –"

It was Haqon who interrupted her. "You don't stand a chance," he told the other Warders in a dry matter-of-fact voice. "I helped to train you. I know what you're capable of. I know where you're _weak_." None of the others moved. "_Anthared_. You're past your prime. You're growing old and slow."

"That makes two of us," the silver-haired Green's Warder replied coolly.

Haqon only smiled. "Oh, I think not. _Masrogen_. Strong, but predictable. You fall into patterns. _Contair_. You will never be better than you are today – you don't have the reflexes. _Sarnon_. Your defence remains shallow on your left, and as the Master at Arms keeps telling you; it'll be your death. _Jored_. You're as Brown as your Aes Sedai – you _think_ too much. Dahlan – you think too _little_. You're inexperienced and rash, and that makes you overreach. And with that arm of yours…" His words came with slow dignity, and both his hands remained empty. Behind him Lomiel Sedai stood like a statue of White Ajah serenity. Each Warder grew still as he was named. None made the first move. Left were Yamela's twins, both grinning like fools. Haqon eyed them, first one, then the other. "Vaston. Durrak. You wouldn't tell me who was who if your lives depended on it."

"Correct," chuckled one.

"So tell us our flaws, Blademaster," sing-sang the other.

"If you _please_." All four of those dark brown eyes glittered with quiet menace.

Haqon snorted. "I'd be here all night. Your strength is your ability to work together. Two swords, one mind. But that's also your greatest weakness. I cut one of you, and both will bleed. One in blood, one in tears. And I wonder. If I were to _kill_ one…"

The grins on the twins' faces faded, until they looked as cold as Haqon himself. Except that now, Haqon wore a grin. The grin of a wolf spotting a meal. "I wonder, if given the choice… would either of you sacrifice your Aes Sedai or your twin first?"

"Stand!" snarled Yamela Sedai.

The twins jerked to a stop, both half a step into a thoughtless charge. Haqon, his hands still empty, chuckled.

"Enough," Lomiel whispered. She placed a light hand on the old Warder's arm and glided past him. From dark and cruel his expression turned meek, and he folded his hands behind his back in a waiting stance which bore the marks of military drill. Lomiel ignored the Warders positioned around her. "Call the Warders back, my sisters. Let us talk."

The little Brown, Jahra Sedai, was first to speak. "Jored," she said. When he only glanced at her, she raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, he sheathed his blade and came to her. She patted his shoulder and then adjusted the Warder's cloak about herself. She aimed a not-so-gentle look at the Green.

Yamela Sedai sighed, and the twins, lean and somehow as dark now as they normally were fair, even their pale curls shadowed by their anger, went to her. As one, they smoothly turned and stood at her sides, their swords low but their free left hands clenched. Anthared only shifted from a ready-stance to a subtle waiting-stance. Crescent Moon Behind The Hill, his blade angled just-so, held down at his side.

The other Warders remained wary, but Talanee Sedai scoffed and strode briskly to Dahlan. She Healed him, without first asking. Dahlan was certain she should have _asked_, but since Watene made no protest, he let it pass. Talanee's unconcerned movement broke the ice, and the tension in the gathering eased. The Yellow sent Lomiel a look full of disapproval.

"Watene," Lomiel Sedai said in her soft voice, "has bonded her brother as a Warder." Dahlan felt himself stiffen, and beside him his sister shrank back. He glanced around at the others and saw their shocked faces, but Lomiel continued as if she hadn't noticed. "Clearly, this is against the custom of the Reds, and just as clearly, Watene would not want the secret revealed. Thus, I expect that if she _could_ have, she would have lied to me when questioned, and told me he was not her Warder. Had she been Black, she _could_ have lied. That she gave in and admitted the truth, has told me that she is not Black."

"Of – of course I'm not Black!" Watene protested.

Lomiel looked at her. "There is nothing 'of course' about it." She turned her cool gaze from one Aes Sedai, to the next. "There is nothing 'of course' about any of you."

"You're going to test us all?" snapped Yamela Sedai, her teeth practically bared in challenge. "Just you _try_ –"

"_Yamela_," interrupted Jahra Sedai softly. "Let her be."

Scowling, Yamela Sedai silenced. Wordlessly she held out her had, and as if this was a prearranged signal the little Brown took it lightly in her own.

Watene felt sick. "But, Lomiel, how… did you know?"

"Your brother reacts to your emotions the moment before you do," Lomiel said. "I have seen siblings who are close, true, but never a pair _that_ close. It was an opportunity, and I took it."

The Blue had tilted her chin up. "_Something_ needed to be done," she said softly. "Let's not forget what we risk if one of us is Black…"

Talanee Sedai huffed, her arms folded across her bosom. "You have a point, Lomiel. You've been blunt and messy about it, but you do have a point." At the Yellow's words, the Blue visibly relaxed – then looked flustered about it, and hastily smoothed her face again. Talanee raised an eyebrow at her, then looked to the Grey. "What say you, Bessal?"

Bessal Sedai considered. Her mountain of a Warder remained half in front of her, and she had her hand on his arm as if the physical contact was quite necessary. "I cannot fault your logic," she said. "Though it disgusts me. You Whites were always dangerously dispassionate, and even though I'll agree that reason is preferable to rashness, one must beware as to not fall from _dispassionate_ to _cruel_. I trust I need not inform you on how many Tower laws you have just broken?"

"You need not," Lomiel replied.

Bessal nodded slowly. "Of course, if there is a Black Ajah, I can imagine that finding them will require breaking a few more. Unless we can have the Hall and the Amyrlin proclaim…"

"They, too, might be Black."

"Which leaves us on our own, and it is imperative that we figure out how many of our number we can actually _trust_," Bessal concluded. She nodded slowly to herself. "Yes, it is."

"This is giving me a grand headache," proclaimed Talanee Sedai. "And we still don't know what's been woven back in the Gentling hall. Let's –"

"You're just going to _forgive_ her?" Watene protested.

"_Well_," Yamela Sedai snorted, giving Watene a disdainful look, and then studying Lomiel. "She's hardly _dangerous_, is she? It's not like she could overpower and kill us all."

Watene's cheeks flushed scarlet; shame and anger streaked through the bond. "She had her _monster_ break my brother's arm!"

"No lasting harm done," Talanee Sedai said dismissively. "And, frankly, Watene. The lad's your Warder, and you can't throw a hissing fit every time he gets _scratched_. It's what Warders are for."

"B-b-but…" stammered Watene, her jaw almost dropping as Talanee Sedai turned her back most demonstratively and began to stalk back the way they had come, followed closely by Bessal Sedai, Jahra Sedai, Yamela Sedai, and all their Warders. Evain Sedai and Lomiel followed, arm in arm…

…and with a start, Dahlan realised that he and his sister were alone with Haqon, who had stood so still that Dahlan had forgotten about him. He reached reflexively for his blade, but the White's Warder only smiled that same predatory smile again, and Dahlan felt his mouth go dry.

"A piece of advice for you, Watene Sedai," said Haqon, and dipped his head, suddenly with all the courtesy a Warder owed an Aes Sedai not his own. "For both your sakes. You can't keep protecting the lad, especially not when it endangers yourself. If you wanted to do that, you shouldn't have bonded him. The greatest service you can do him _now_, is to spare him the pain of _you_ dying _first_. For compared to that, he'll hardly notice if someone flays him alive."

Strangely, Watene had no answer. Her bond betrayed only a growing numbness, which didn't react at all when Haqon gave her another nod, and disappeared after the others.

Dahlan put a hand beneath Watene's elbow to steady her. She clutched his arm, and studied him as if she had never seen him before, or as if she had never _wanted_ to. Most decidedly, her mind was probing the bond as surely as her eyes searched his face.

"Light," she whispered finally, "it's true, isn't it?"

"Likely," he replied, and grinned at her.

"_Light_. What have I _done_?"

He kissed her forehead – quickly, so she had no chance to swat him away. "Given me a reason to _live_, sister."

"But I've –" At the sight of his grin, she glared at him. "Fine, then," she snapped. "But get yourself hurt, and I _will_ flay you alive. Are we clear?"

"Clear as the starry sky above." He held out his arm to her.

She ignored it. Instead, she threw her arms about him and hugged him so tightly he feared a rib might break. "I mean it, Dahlan. Don't you get yourself hurt."

"I'll… do my best, Teeny," he promised her.

She nodded, releasing him slowly, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve… if he hadn't known better he'd have thought there were tears in her eyes. But his sister was Aes Sedai, and she didn't cry. Must have been the dust in the air, or something. Then she brushed off his doublet with her hands, gave him a critical study as if to assure herself that he was truly in one piece, and took his arm.

Together they went after the others.

* * *

The Aes Sedai had resumed their study of the weaves in the Gentling hall. Lomiel Sedai, Talanee Sedai, Evain Sedai, and Bessal Sedai, were clustered at a suitable study distance from one of the frozen Fades; the Green conversed animatedly with her three Warders near where that Black sister and her Warders lay; the Brown wove her way through the hall, one arm and hand outstretched as if running her fingers through something Dahlan couldn't see. Her Warder watched her with his hand on the pommel of his blade, concern apparent on his face. He looked somewhat like he had done when he'd hindered her from touching the Myrddraal, only now he didn't know what he should keep her away from, or how.

"What is it with this room?" Dahlan asked his sister.

"There are flows of Water, Spirit, and Air everywhere," Watene told him. She kept her hold on his arm, her bond full of unease, and the same queasiness that beset Dahlan himself. He supposed it must have been the presence of the Myrddraal. "Earth and Fire are woven into the floor, where those stars are marked out. There's a pattern to it. It's been broken where Lomiel burned the Fade, but it isn't unravelling. The other Fades must be keeping it together. It all flows from them, and…" She shrugged. "We don't know what it is, or what it does, but… but…" She drew a deep breath. "But from what Lomiel and Jahra said of these Fades, and the Blacks taking the Amyrlin…"

"A way to turn people to the Shadow?"

"That's as good a guess as any. But it ought to require some massive active channelling to accomplish. This meshwork isn't _doing_ anything. It's waiting to be activated. Like some sort of temporary _ter'angreal_. Left alone, I think it'll unravel with time."

"Then what happens to the Fades?"

"I don't know. The weaves flow from them, and converge on the thirteen points of the inner star, where –"

"Where the Aes Sedai would be while Gentling you."

"Yes, exactly." She hugged his arm a bit tighter. "And then everything converges again on the very centre." She silenced. Just at that mentioned centre, the Brown circled in place with her arm still outstretched from the billowing folds of the Warder's cloak.

"What's she doing?"

"Trying to get a feel for the weave, I think," Watene muttered with a frown. "But I wouldn't have –"

Several things happened at once. A thunderclap. A burst of light, exploding from the centre of the room. Dahlan was knocked off his feet, Watene landed hard on his chest when he hit the floor, and unthinking he folded his arms about her and rolled her beneath the shield of his own body. No more explosions followed, but when he looked up the little Brown had lifted from the floor, spinning in the air with that cloak spread about her. Beneath it her dress hung in burned tatters, which now whipped about her legs. Her spine was arched, her head thrown back, and the shriek that emerged from her mouth rang with a thousand voices. Her Warder had collapsed to the floor where he'd stood, as if he'd been a puppet and the strings had been cut. The other Aes Sedai and Warders were in the same state of scrambling up as Watene and Dahlan, but then the pulse of light from the centre reached the circle of Fades along the walls.

The Fades screamed. The sound hit Dahlan like a physical blow, and halfway through rising, the strength left his limbs and he folded numbly back to the floor, paralysed by sudden terror. Watene, equally bereft, curled in on herself and threw up. The only movement in the room was the still-spinning Brown, and a darkness that danced about the Fades' limbs. It leaked from the black of their cloaks and tendrils reached into the room. Dahlan couldn't tell if it was just the blackness, or if the creatures were beginning to _move_.

Rays of light and dark pulsed along the star markings, gradually weakening. When they no longer reached out to the Myrddraal, the screams stopped. Dahlan could move again, and a trembling Watene must have emptied her stomach, for she was no longer throwing up. The bond in his head warned her that she felt weak as a newborn kitten, and when she put her hands beneath her to rise her arms trembled.

Even the Brown had stopped screaming – her lungs must have been emptied of air – and when the light and dark flashes ceased she tumbled over in the air and fell in a graceless heap.

"Jahra!" screeched the Green from the other end of the room, but her silver-haired Warder had her in a vice-like grip and refused to let go. From the look of it she trembled as badly as Watene, and wasn't difficult to restrain.

Talanee Sedai, however, was already making her stumbling way out to the Brown on her hands and knees, with a steely determination in her eyes that refused to acknowledge how her arms had twice given way already and let her fall flat on her face, and might well do it again. Her Warder scrambled after her, himself not much steadier.

"That was no – no _accident_," came Bessal Sedai's breathless tones. She had propped herself up to a sitting position with the help of her mountain of a Warder, and pointed to one of the doors leaving the room; the one leading into a long corridor. "Over there. Someone channelled. Someone set this _off_."

Dahlan saw a flash of movement where she'd pointed; there _had_ been someone there. The Green snarled like a bear with threatened cubs, and somewhere found the strength to fight her Warder's hold. "Burn it, Anthared, _let go_! Help me, or be bloody well _left behind_!" Faced with that choice, her Warder released her and ran ahead of her after the disappearing figure.

That was the last Dahlan saw of the two before one of the Warders cried warning. The Fades were no longer frozen. They were attacking.

He shakily drew his sword, and his knees wobbled as if made of nothing but water. But Watene, her back pressed to his side, gathered lightening between her hands. She still felt sick from whatever had happened with the Brown, the Fades, and those weaves, but there was a core of steel in her that amazed him: she wasn't going to let him be hurt. She wasn't even going to let him be afraid. Strength and determination flooded through the bond, and he found his hand steadying. His fear ran off him like water off well-oiled leather. When he met the charging Fade's eyeless gaze, he could have laughed.

* * *

_Author's note:_

So, long chapter. Much much fun. Haqon and Lomiel are scary.

Next up, Black Ajah. Not nearly as scary. But lots of plot threads to begin knotting together, which is sort of nerve-wrecking to write, because I keep feeling like I've dropped a few. Let's see... further Black Ajah plots to be revealed, Bessal needs to find out about Nevien, Lomiel must flee the Tower... oh, and someone needs to die. Several someones. Did I miss any?


	8. Ch 8: The First of the Blacks

**The First of the Blacks**

It had been a disaster to begin with, but it had been _Nartilde's_ bloody disaster. If not for that meddlesome little Brown, it would have continued to be Nartilde's disaster.

Girthona Yltron, Sitter of the Blue, but more importantly; the leader of the First Heart, knew Him better than Nartilde did, and knew that He would disapprove of this entire endeavour. Someone would pay in blood and pain for this mess, but Girthona had been determined that it would be someone else. It would be Nartilde. Or Polinne. It had been unavoidable from the moment those Yellows began meddling.

Polinne had been right to deal with the Yellows, but her methods were as always too blunt. Nartilde, always too eager for power, had jumped on the opportunity. Girthona had had no idea exactly how far that bitch had intended to take this when she'd given permission to seize this chance and sow chaos. She had had no idea how much damage the bloody woman could do.

Kidnapping the Amyrlin would have one smoothly enough, or killing her even more smoothly, but Nartilde's ambitions did not stop there. She'd sent out assassins – servants, Accepted, even Grey Men! – to any likely candidate who might replace the current Amyrlin, but wasn't Black. Girthona knew that Nartilde wanted the Seat for herself. Well, she wouldn't have it. Not while Girthona was in control, and neither while Ullara remained in the First Heart. Nartilde's bloody ambitions were endangering the entire Black Ajah, and the fool herself didn't even see it.

But _He_ would have dealt with Nartilde, and Girthona could have used the mess to clean up in the Black Ajah ranks, just as Nartilde had used it to clean out her competition for the Amyrlin Seat. As for Polinne, He would likely have dealt with her too. Good riddance. It was said that Polinne had cut her own Warder's heart out and eaten it, after he had had the gall to sleep with another woman. Whether that was true or not, she'd always just rubbed Girthona the wrong way.

So it was a mess, but Girthona could have weathered it, especially with Ullara to back her – or to blame, if He wasn't satisfied with Nartilde and Polinne. Girthona could have emerged the stronger for it, with more control of her Black Ajah and the Tower alike. Perhaps she could even have replaced the cumbersome First Heart system with a true Head of the Black Ajah. Yes, she could have. As long as her own record remained spotless. Which it would have, if not for that… that _meddlesome little Brown_.

It had taken her all too long to undo that bloody bookbinding weave. With her cloak thrown across her face she hadn't been able to see. To dissolve a weave she couldn't see, and wasn't familiar with, was difficult. Without the help of her Warder, Jenorar, she might still have been at it. He cut a hole in her cloak to let her see, and thereafter it was easy.

And she was certain that little bitch would recognize her. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let herself be compromised. If she was recognized, compromised, _He_ would kill her without a second thought.

She had hardly believed her luck when she found the Brown in the Gentling hall, positioned just so at the centre of the weave. She figured that having the essences of thirteen Myrddraal channelled through your system would likely kill you, when it wasn't tempered and controlled by the full circle of thirteen sisters. So she had given the weave a _tap_, and watched the glory ensue.

Too bad someone had noted her presence. She'd have liked to affirm that the meddlesome Brown was dead, well and truly dead – she wasn't as sloppy as that _idiot_, Erenwile, who didn't make _sure_ – but there had been six other Aes Sedai there. Girthona entertained no illusions that she might be a match for so many. Especially not when Talanee Miraniv of the Yellow was present, who by her lonesome was stronger than three regular sisters would be linked. A pity Nartilde's ploy hadn't managed to kill that one.

Not to mention, _why were six sisters of different Ajahs gathered in the Gentling hall, studying the bloody Myrddraal_? She'd wring Nartilde's neck for leaving the Myrddraal unattended. She'd wring Polinne's neck, too. Polinne was equally responsible. She should have known of any such cross-Ajah alliances and yanked them apart before they even took root.

_No_, she amended her thoughts coldly. _I'll leave Polinne for Him_.

But that was for later.

For now, Girthona fled. One Aes Sedai, and one Warder, pursued her. But she knew these paths, these half-built, and half-rock tunnels, and she knew where she could go, where she might set a trap, or make a stand. She only wished Jenorar had been with her, but of course, he'd had other tasks. He'd be with her soon.

She tried to slow her pursuers down by tearing chunks from the walls and setting fires behind her, but still they came. She couldn't fault them. Persistence was a trait she admired, in fact. It was just a shame to have it used against her.

She ran past one of her secret stashes and withdrew a copper coin, still shiny despite its apparent age. When she rubbed it between her fingers it felt warm, and she closed her hand tightly about it as she ran on. It was an _angreal_. Only a weak _angreal_, but it did give her an edge she lacked without it.

Finally, she reached her destination still ahead of her pursuers. The darkness was near total, and she'd been running with her fingers trailing the wall to keep her path. It was the moist air and the sound and smell of water, far below, which alerted her, and as she rounded the corner she kept well to the side. She didn't want to fall herself.

She had always had a talent for wielding Earth, as well as reading it. She knew where the broken edge was even in the dark, and was able to drop to the rough excuse for a floor just before it, and roll aside. The jutting rocks jabbed painfully into her, but she would rather feel them than feel the stale empty air, the free fall. She scrambled in near the safety of the wall, into the darkness, and made herself still, silent.

Moments later the Warder came. He must have had instincts, for he seemed to sense the empty fall before him; he had just begun to halt his charge when she channelled. The stone beneath his boots gave way.

He began to fall –

"Anthared!"

– but his Aes Sedai caught his hand in one of hers at the last moment. Her other hand managed a grip on a nearby cracked stone, and somehow – _somehow_ – that was enough to keep them both from going over. He hung by one of her hands, and she was sprawled on the floor just by the edge, the fingers of one hand clutching the edge of that stone and toes straining to grip the jutting edges of the cracked tiles by the break.

Girthona pulled into the shadows. With a bit of luck, the two would believe she had fallen. She had hid her gift just after channelling – a useful trick to say the least, born from a youth in self-denial among a people who despised anything to do with the One Power – and she had channelled beneath the edge, where the young Green would not have seen the weaves, only felt them, and likely thought them an attempt on her part to catch hold.

The two at the edge seemed to have forgotten her. A faint globe of light pulsed above the Aes Sedai's head, but only weakly, as if its owner's distraction was leeching the strength out of it. The Aes Sedai spoke through gritted teeth. "Hang still. Durrak's coming. He'll help me… pull you up."

"No time," replied the old Warder in a gruff murmur. "Let me fall, before I drag you with me."

"No," hissed the Green. She had half her upper body already over the edge, and her fingers were slipping on the stone. "Never."

"Don't put the twins through what I went through."

"It won't happen."

"Then let me fall."

Girthona smiled in gleeful anticipation, and only watched. She didn't mind letting a problem take care of itself.

"_Durrak_!" cried the Green – what was her name again? Girthona never could keep track of the younger Aes Sedai.

"Yamela, let me go."

_Yamela, then_, thought Girthona. _Well, Yamela. Do you love your Warder well enough to die with him? You're a Green. You probably do. Fool girl – he's old enough to be your father._

"Don't be silly –"

"I won't drag you with me. Release me. Or I'll simply pry your fingers off."

"_No_, _Gaidin_." But then her grip on the rocks slipped clear and Yamela – with a small bitten-back shriek – slid towards the edge, and over it all the way to her waist, caught only by the meagre grasp of her toes hooked behind the jutting floor tiles, and her other hand catching an even more precarious hold closer to the edge. Girthona smiled – she knew what the young Aes Sedai had been caught on. She could almost _feel_ she sharp edges of the broken stones cutting into Yamela's body; some of them would draw blood, she supposed. She could almost smell it, metallic and warm, turned from red to black by the darkness. But the girl had to knew how that exquisite pain was likely the only thing keeping her from going over the edge.

"Durrak!" bellowed the Green again. "Burn you, _run_!"

"He's not close enough," came the old Warder's calm tones.

"Stop that, _Gaidin_! I can't hold on if –"

One set of toes lost their grip. The young Green whimpered as her far shoulder was jerked in a most odd angle, grimaced as a sharp stone cut deeper into her side. Still one leg remained up on solid ground, but the other foot was slipping, about to let more of the young Aes Sedai over the edge –

Girthona's smile broadened. She _loved_ a bit of drama. Just a couple of seconds further –the second foot lost a bit of ground but the sharp rocks held her more or less steady; the Green gave a muffled cry but her hand did not let go, the stubborn girl… but _still, she would not be able to hold on for much_ –

"You'll be alright," came the Warder's gruff tones. "You'll be fine. The twins will take care of you. They're good lads. Tell them I said that."

"Anthared, _no_!" shrieked Yamela, and Girthona tried to decide if it was a howl of pain or fury. It was followed by a wordless wail.

So the Warder had pried his hand free. Girthona moved quickly. Time to push this Yamela after him; no one would be surprised to find a Green fallen with her Warder. And if she could only deal with that meddlesome Brown quick enough, this entire unpleasant business would be over, and she could return to her work.

The fool Green was about to scramble over the edge herself, grasping for her Warder. She had released her last handhold and – and was caught by the ankle in two hands. A man had thrown himself at her and dragged her hastily back onto solid floor, with an ease which spoke of strength. The Green screamed but did not kick; instead flung herself about, against the man's chest. He folded his arms about her and hushed.

Must be one of her other Warders. _Very well_, thought Girthona. If the two of them wanted to die together, then so be it. In an instant she had seized the Source through her _angreal_ coin, woven a blade from Air and Earth and Fire, which cut down quicker than the Green could even sense her channelling.

But Warders did not become Warders through inattentiveness. He felt the wind from the blade and jerked both himself and the Green to the side, then grunted when the blade caught him in the lower back.

But Yamela was clear, and she rolled to her feet nimbly, coming up enveloped in _saidar_. Girthona swept the Power-wrought blade towards her again and threw a shield at her. Unfortunately Yamela had drunk too deeply from the Source to be easily cut off by any shield, and she threw a wall of Air between herself and the blade.

The Warder staggered up – how could he even _stagger_ up with such a wound? – and came at Girthona. She slammed Air into his face, while snatching a ball of flame from the wind and throwing it at Yamela. Her own Jenorar would soon be there, and he could deal with the Warder while she focused on the Green.

The Green did not fight decently at a distance like women who channelled should, but was closing, tossing a rain of Spirit arrows to stun, while twining a whip of Fire with her other hand.

Spirit arrows? Whips of fire? The girl had imagination, that was certain. And surprising. Most Greens lacked both imagination and subtlety.

Girthona backed away, cleaving the Fire whip, ripping the Spirit arrows apart with Air, and sent an eruption of Earth – shards of tiles – just beneath the other's feet.

The Green rolled through the eruption and swept up to crash into Girthona like a wave crashing against a rock shore. Girthona had put a wall of Air between them at the last moment, and followed it with another eruption of Earth and Fire – the Green howled and threw herself aside. She answered with a furious tide of Water, which fell like sudden rain from the roof, drenching them both. Girthona jerked her wall of Air from solidity and made it a net, folded it about the Green, and began to squeeze.

The Green cut the weave with flows of Spirit, staggered through another eruption of Earth, and – and threw a _knife_?

The knife sat solid in her shoulder before Girthona managed to react. Her hand went to it, while she sliced at Yamela with another shield, desperately backed by her entire strength, added to that of the _angreal_. This one cut through. She was stronger than the Green – and with the _angreal_… Or, perhaps she had caught her by surprise.

On one side of a wall of Air, the Green stood on two knees and a hand, teary-eyed and breathing hard, her face blackened and burned and covered in dust and earth, her fine dress and cloak torn and bloody and burned and still glowing at the fringed edges. Beside her, that Warder lay motionless, but she did not look at him. She focused baleful eyes on Girthona, fought the shield on her, and reached for the blade at her hip even though she must have known a new wall of Air stood firm before her.

On the other side, Girthona had leaned back against the stone wall. She lit a globe of light for herself and let it shine from above her head. Her field of vision swam, blood leaked between the fingers that clutched her shoulder, and her breath came ragged. With each inhalation pain stabbed through her shoulder. The blade sat beneath the collar bone. Unless she found someone to Heal her, soon…

_Dark Lord be praised. Jenorar was there_. He emerged from a side corridor, sword already in hand, and ran to her side.

"Kill them," hissed Girthona.

He never hesitated. She let the wall of Air go as he wheeled, like a cat spotting a target, and struck. But the young Aes Sedai flowed aside with a born fighter's grace, even from her kneeling position, and stabbed with her long-bladed dagger.

Girthona's eyes widened as she realised that the girl knew how to use that blade – she _could_ fight. But she should be no match for a trained Warder – especially not with one strained shoulder, with those burns, with her body already cut and bruised, and her mind raw from grief and agony.

Oh, Girthona knew what it felt like to lose a Warder. _She_ had not been able to think straight for a week, and she had always prided herself on her composure and self-control.

Jenorar blocked the blade, caught the girl's wrist, kneed aside an attempt to kick him in the groin, smartly kicked the knife from her grip, and grunted as she sank her teeth into his hand.

Her _teeth_? This girl was no Aes Sedai; she was a feral _cat_.

Jenorar did not let go. He viciously knocked the pommel of his sword into her forehead, again, and again; only after the third strike did she go limp. He let her drop to the ground, rubbed his hand with a grimace, and then shook it as if to shake the pain away. He weighed his sword in his hand and looked from the unconscious girl to her unconscious Warder, as if considering whom to use the blade on first. In a moment he had decided, and turned to the girl –

Girthona felt a blade against her throat, and a harsh whisper in her ear: "Tell him to hold. If she dies, so do you. And I'll _know_ if she dies."

"_Jenorar_," was all Girthona managed.

Jenorar stepped back, sheathed the sword, and turned towards them. He spread his arms wide to show his empty hands.

"Step away from her," said the voice – there was a musical touch to his words beneath the controlled fury.

But Jenorar felt Girthona's mood, and Girthona was smiling, weaving thin tendrils of Air and Fire, and just about ready. So Jenorar, too, smiled, and said; "No."

"I _said_ –"

"You're not thinking straight, _Gaidin_," Girthona said crisply. "Attacking a sister? Tsk, tsk. Allow me to _educate_ you."

She laid a noose of Fire around his dagger, cutting the blade from the handle with a weave hot enough to burn straight through the iron, and one noose of simple Air about his neck . He did not scream, only jerked and threw his hands up to claw at it.

Girthona quickly looped the flow about his wrists as well, trapping them. Then she took hold of his hair and twisted. His neck bent beneath her grip, and when the pressure on neck and head grew great enough, and the lack of air began to make him dizzy, he folded to his knees. Very satisfying.

"I'll educate you, but you won't find me a lenient teacher. Let's start with today's big question… the question of all questions…" She leaned in, her voice an eager whisper. "Who dies first? You, or your Aes Sedai? Who'll suffer the most from the other's death? _She's_ unconscious. She wouldn't know if you died. So I do believe…" She chuckled to herself. "Jenorar? Throw her over the edge, if you please."

The Warder in her grip jerked feebly, but tied and without air that was all he could do. He was turning a lovely bluish colour. She loosened the snare about his neck; she didn't want him to faint. That would spoil the fun.

She smiled and stared into his eyes. She did love to see the life go out of them. And Warders gave the opportunity to see it _twice_.

_Author's Note:_

I know, this chapter is about half as long as my chapters usually are. But I wanted to end it there (cliffhanger..!).

Consider yourself formally introduced to Girthona, Nevien's replacement as this series' resident Black sister.

And now someone needs to stop Girthona. Or, at least, stop her Warder. I haven't completely decided who, yet. Any ideas?


End file.
